


Broken

by Lynse



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, At some point along the way this developed plot, Character Death, Consequences, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gabriel Agreste as Hawk Moth, Gen, Grief, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Loss, Shock, slow healing, so now it's kinda a slow reveal fic too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynse/pseuds/Lynse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chat Noir defeated Hawk Moth, and now Adrien must live with the consequences. (AU in which Hawk Moth and Gabriel Agreste are one and the same. Chapters told from different character perspectives: Adrien, Plagg, Marinette, Chloé, Tikki, Nino, Alya, Tom, Sabrina, Nathalie, the Gorilla, Master Fu, and Mme Bustier.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Adrien

**Author's Note:**

> Hawk Moth may not be Adrien's father and this idea is admittedly the product of a mostly sleepless night, but I wanted to explore it regardless.

_I’m sorry for your loss._

The words flooded over Adrien, the voices blending together. _Deepest sympathy. So sorry to hear. My sympathies. Sorry for your loss._ He couldn’t remember now what it had been like with his mother; he suspected people had been able to say more about her, to recall some trait or some story to share and laugh and cry, but his father had dealt with people solely on a professional level for so long….

Adrien wasn’t sure how long he stood there in the entryway to his home. It was filled with flowers from well-wishers, some heavily scented and some just brightly decorative. He didn’t know the origins of all of them, though he knew some. His classmates. The various clubs to which he belonged. Nino’s family. Alya’s. Chloé’s. Marinette’s. Some were from people he didn’t know, ones given to Nathalie and other staff, which was nice to see. There were even bouquets from a few of the business his father had dealt with, and Adrien wished he suspected they had been sent with more intention than as a courtesy or to, perhaps, curry favour, but he couldn’t….

This wasn’t right.

None of it was right. It shouldn’t be this way. It shouldn’t have happened.

Adrien watched dumbly as Nathalie accepted another casserole on his behalf. She looked cross, angry, and in the next blink she’d schooled her features to a carefully blank coldness. She received the food with what the naïve might call a smile and sent it off with someone else before resuming her post beside him. Her glare sent some people—people Adrien was fairly sure he didn’t even know—scurrying to speak with some of the other staff. The heads were gathered here today, for this. Most of them looked stunned, as if they couldn’t believe this either.

And they didn’t even know.

Adrien closed his eyes to shut out the sight of everything in front of him, but the memories came immediately. _“Use your Cataclysm!”_ Ladybug had cried. _“Get his Miraculous!”_ And Adrien _had_ invoked his power, and then he’d attacked Hawk Moth, and then….

“Dude, come back to me.”

Adrien opened his eyes and looked at Nino, who was standing in front of him. “Hey,” he managed weakly. “Thanks for coming.”

Nino clasped his shoulders. “I’m here for you, man. Any time. Seriously, wake me up in the middle of the night if you have to. I _want_ you to, got that?”

Adrien nodded. “Thank you,” he said again.

Nino’s hands dropped. His feet scuffed the marble flooring. “Look, you didn’t deserve this. It’s not fair, but even if I don’t know what you’re going though, I’m gonna listen, okay? So you talk if you need to talk.”

Another nod, but this one was false. Adrien couldn’t talk to Nino. Nino didn’t know. No one knew.

After this, though, Ladybug might suspect.

“Hey, Adrien, Nino.” It was Alya, with Marinette in tow. He wondered when the crowd had begun to shift from nameless adults to his classmates. How long had he been standing here? It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been. “Adrien, I don’t know what to say, except that you’re strong and you’re going to get through this, and we’re here—we’re _all_ here—for you for whatever you need, whenever you need it.” She gave him a quick hug before facing him again. “Remember that.”

Alya stepped back, giving him a small smile to acknowledge his murmured thanks, glanced at Marinette, and then led Nino away.

Marinette looked at Adrien and her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Hi, Marinette,” Adrien said. “Thanks for coming.” He wished the words didn’t sound as if they were spoken by rote. This already felt unreal, and the repetition wasn’t helping. 

Marinette enveloped him in a crushing hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I should never….” She began to cry, shoulders shaking as she sobbed into him. The lump in Adrien’s throat grew, and he had to wipe at his own eyes, squeezing them closed against the tears.

“You’re being silly.” He had to force the words from his mouth and take careful breaths to make sure his voice didn’t crack, but the tears ran down his cheeks despite his efforts. They betrayed him. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Marinette still hadn’t released him, and she clutched him tighter at those words. “It has everything to do with me, kitty cat,” she mumbled into his chest.

_“We’ll never defeat Hawk Moth if we always wait for him to make the first move,” Ladybug said. She spread a map of Paris on the rooftop in front of him. Dozens upon dozens of little Xs dotted it, overlapping with circles. “The crosses are for where we know someone was infected by an akuma, the circles for my best guess.”_

_Somehow, it was no surprise that he almost couldn’t see his school beneath the pen markings. “This is like what’s on the Ladyblog.”_

_“That’s where I got the idea,” acknowledged Ladybug. “It might not work, but it’s worth investigating, isn’t it?”_

_Adrien looked at the map. There was no immediately obvious pattern, but if he considered the clusters and the farthest reaches of the akumas, the fact that the edge of the city was rimmed by circles because neither he nor Ladybug ever reached Hawk Moth’s victim before the destruction began…. “You’re looking for a central point.” She wanted to identify the centre of the attacks, to try to discern Hawk Moth’s position from the only clues he had ever given them._

_Ladybug nodded. “We don’t know what we’re looking for, but trying to narrow it down has to help. If nothing else, we’ll be able to rule out this part of the city. I can’t imagine he’d find it easy to move his lair; he needs to be working out of somewhere.”_

_“I’ll try to follow the next akuma you cleanse,” Adrien offered. “Maybe they return to Hawk Moth.”_

_“Or maybe they lead away from him, if it isn’t just random.” Ladybug smiled at him. “Good thinking.”_

“M-Marinette?” Adrien didn’t know what to say. He stood frozen in place, his arms still pinned to his side by hers. _Marinette_?

“I’m so sorry, Adrien. I never should have insisted we try to fight him like that.”

_They hadn’t really known what they were looking for, but Adrien had seen the sliding doors hiding the window for what they were. It had taken not inconsiderable strength to force them open, but it had only taken a glimpse of the kaleidoscope of butterflies through the window for him to know they’d found it. Hawk Moth hadn’t been there, and the butterflies had seemed harmless enough, alternatively flitting around or settling down. If he hadn’t known better, he might not have guessed at the extent of the evil the akumas could spread._

_He didn’t stay long that first time. He’d scampered to the top of the dome and called Ladybug. She’d met him there and swung down for a quick examination herself, as wary as he had been that Hawk Moth might show up. Once they’d memorized the structure, they’d met elsewhere to discuss. To plan._

_It had been Ladybug’s idea to wait until they fought an akuma victim in the vicinity. It had been her idea that he head to Hawk Moth’s lair the moment the akuma was freed, before she’d caught and cleansed it. She’d assured him that she’d be right behind him but had pointed out that if they were to attack Hawk Moth, to deal with the source and not the symptoms, they needed to attack when they knew he would be there._

_Ladybug hadn’t been late in following, exactly, but she’d needed to use her Lucky Charm to defeat the villain and wouldn’t have been able to maintain her transformation without allowing her kwami to reenergize. They’d tried to avoid that, using their special powers, but they’d needed a bit of Ladybug’s luck to get through the last fight. Cataclysm hadn’t been needed, so Adrien had been able to leave with the confidence that he wouldn’t lose his transformation the moment he faced Hawk Moth._

_When Adrien broke through the circular window that marked Hawk Moth’s lair in a shower of shattered glass, Ladybug was not on his tail. His spinning staff took the brunt of the impact, so he didn’t need much time to recover. That was just as well, because even as the akumas scattered, others began to blacken. He began spinning his staff again, using it as a shield as they flew at him with unnerving accuracy and with more ill intent than Bubbler’s bubbles._

_Adrien danced and dodged, spinning and slicing the akumas from the air as he advanced inch by painful inch. Hawk Moth did not retreat. He just stood there, waiting, one hand resting on his cane, the other clenched into a fist in anticipation._

_He watched._

_He smiled._

_The butterflies swarmed. Adrien risked a glance behind him and realized not every akuma had targeted him; some had avoided him and escaped out the window, either to waylay Ladybug or to infect the innocent people of Paris. He tried, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake off the akumas that landed on him. They covered him, blotting out his vision, and it wasn’t until after he was trying to scrape them off with both hands that he realized he’d dropped his staff._

_Hawk Moth began to chuckle._

“You…you’re….” Adrien swallowed and managed to disentangle himself from Marinette. Tears still ran down her cheeks, but she wasn’t sobbing any longer. She sniffed, pulled some tissue from her pocket and wiped at her eyes and nose, and looked at him. She still trembled slightly, but she’d squared her shoulders, and for a moment, she looked like…like herself. It made his breath catch. “My lady?”

She gave one sharp nod, and then her composure crumbled again. “I never imagined…. I didn’t know…. I feel _awful_. If I’d never….”

Adrien hugged her again slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around this latest shock. Ladybug was Marinette. She’d realized who he was, and after what had happened…. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured into her hair. The words were true, but that didn’t make them any easier to force out. “I never thought it was your fault.”

It was his.

_Someone caught his hand, and Adrien lashed out on instinct. The grip of those long fingers might as well have been iron. He couldn’t shift them, couldn’t make them loosen. He felt his ring slide slightly and tightened his hand into a fist, but the intruding fingers began to pry open his own with disturbing ease._

_“Finally,” Hawk Moth gloated, “your Miraculous is mine!”_

_“Get away from him!”_

_The voice was Ladybug’s, her timely appearance likely accounting for all the good luck Adrien was due for the entire year. He felt her yo-yo wrap around him and then he was yanked back, away from Hawk Moth. Ladybug had him free again in seconds, and the disturbance had been enough to dislodge some of the akumas. His vision cleared in time for him to see Ladybug dive for his staff, kicking it back to him before getting to her feet and—to his dismay—falling into the same trap he had by spinning her yo-yo around in an attempt to keep the akumas at bay._

_Adrien snatched up his weapon and scrambled to his feet, moving so he could cover Ladybug._

_“Look at him,” she said as quietly as she could, nodding at Hawk Moth. “He has a Miraculous, too.”_

_Adrien knew immediately what she’d seen; he’d suspected the same himself upon his first glimpse of Hawk Moth. He might not know who was beneath the villain’s mask, but he knew how to_ unmask _him, and he knew how to stop him. They just needed to get his Miraculous._

_“I know. I’ve got an idea.”_

_Ladybug didn’t ask him to explain. Quite aside from the fact that they would be overheard, she trusted him. Adrien knew that and appreciated it, so he wasn’t surprised to hear her say, “Go.” She would cover him, just as he did for her whenever she was enacting one of her ideas._

“We both made mistakes,” mumbled Marinette. Her arms had snaked around him again and held fast. He found himself absently rubbing her back, trying to comfort her as much as she was trying to comfort him. He breathed in her scent, trying to block out the suffocating smell of the flowers. They _had_ both made mistakes.

But his was…. His was worse. His had been irreversible.

“I don’t blame you. I never blamed you. You must know that, my lady.”

“I still blame myself. I shouldn’t have pushed for a confrontation. I’d just…. I thought things would be better once it was over.”

Adrien couldn’t bring himself to say that things were better now; he wasn’t sure it was true. He felt…hollow, empty, filled only with an ache that made him want to curl up into a ball and cry, but he couldn’t. He needed to be strong. He needed to get through this. 

Ladybug was here. He could lean on her, borrow some of her strength. He certainly needed it. He could count on one hand how many hours he’d slept in the last two days, but how was he to sleep when the horrific scene began to play out in his mind every time he closed his eyes?

Ladybug—Marinette—was the only one who knew the truth, besides him and their kwami. 

She was the only one who really understood what defeating Hawk Moth had cost him.

She was the only one who knew just how broken he was.

_It didn’t take long for Adrien to realize that Hawk Moth’s cane was his weapon. Controlling the akumas was more akin to his special power than anything else, except that he didn’t appear to tire nearly as quickly as Adrien or Ladybug ever did when Cataclysm or Lucky Charm was used._

_He didn’t appear to tire as quickly as Adrien or Ladybug did normally, either._

_With all the akumas present, the fight was not two on one; he and Ladybug were never able to combine forces and fight Hawk Moth together. Using the akumas, he had been able to divide them, and it was all too real a possibility that he would also succeed in conquering them and stealing their Miraculous._

_“I can’t get close enough,” Adrien said as he was forced to fall back once more. “It’s not going to work.”_

_Ladybug pursed her lips but didn’t stop spinning her yo-yo. She was getting tired; he could see it._ He _was certainly getting tired. Akumas clung to both of them, if not as many as had first covered him. Their movements were getting slower, more sluggish, and he and Ladybug both sliced fewer and fewer akumas from the air._

_“Take an opening when you see it,” was all Ladybug said, and then she attacked._

_He was normally the one who did the bulk of the close combat fighting, giving Ladybug more time to work, to analyze the situation, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take on an enemy head on. She was at a disadvantage—her weapon wasn’t designed for that—but she used it as she could, blocking attacks and alternatively trying to disarm Hawk Moth and tie him up._

_Adrien couldn’t rest—the akumas would overwhelm him if he did—but he was free to try to get behind Hawk Moth, to try to force him to fight the battle on two fronts. He was free to take advantage of any mistake Hawk Moth made._

_But it was Ladybug who made the mistake._

_She was the one who misjudged Hawk Moth’s next move and the speed with which he carried it out, not he hers._

_She fell with a cry._

_Adrien growled and pounced, knocking Hawk Moth away from her._

_“Use your Cataclysm!” she yelled. “Get his Miraculous!”_

_Hawk Moth threw Adrien away with surprising strength, but Ladybug had used his distraction for what it was. Adrien was on his feet again and had invoked his power, the deadly Cataclysm swirling about his right hand which bore his Miraculous, before Hawk Moth had a chance to extract himself from the winding prison of Ladybug’s yo-yo. Adrien wasn’t sure what Cataclysm would do to Hawk Moth’s Miraculous, but he reached for it anyway._

_Hawk Moth twisted, and Adrien’s fingers brushed his chest instead of the butterfly Miraculous._

“It’s okay to cry,” Marinette whispered. “It’s good to cry.” 

Adrien hadn’t realized it, but Marinette’s hair was wet with his tears. “I-I never meant….” He couldn’t finish.

“I know.” The arms around him tightened. “I know.”

_Hawk Moth stiffened, the magic remaining for a moment where Adrien had touched him. And then it spread, rusting away his costume and his identity as Hawk Moth. The Miraculous clattered to the floor. The akuma attack stopped abruptly, the fluttering of butterfly wings becoming less frenzied as the black magic vanished._

_Adrien saw his father’s face staring back at him, saw realization and—worse still—recognition settle in his eyes before they went blank._

_Horrified, Adrien stumbled back._

_There was no akuma to cleanse this time, no way to reverse the damage._

This was his fault, and no one except for Marinette knew the truth. Everyone else believed Gabriel Agreste’s death had been sudden, that his heart had given out for entirely natural reasons. Adrien almost wished the body had crumbled to dust as a result of the Cataclysm so he hadn’t had to face the accusation frozen on his father’s face. 

The body was gone now, of course; Nathalie had arranged for the cremation to be completed as soon as possible. But she had only found the body in his father’s study _after_ Ladybug had taken it there thinking it better for everyone if the truth about Hawk Moth was never known.

Ladybug had returned to the tower to try to talk to him afterwards. For once, he hadn’t wanted to see her, and though she had been hesitant at first, she had finally left him alone to recover his wits.

He’d let his transformation wear off back in the tower and hadn’t transformed since.

As far as he knew, neither had Ladybug.

They hadn’t needed to, without Hawk Moth.

He didn’t know what had happened with Ladybug’s kwami, but Plagg had long since given up trying to talk to Adrien and had merely hidden his room, gorging himself on cheese and—maybe—waiting until Adrien was ready to listen to him. Adrien didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to care after what had happened. 

He wondered, not for the first time, if Hawk Moth’s final twist had been deliberate, and—as before—firmly turned his thoughts away from that line of thinking. He would never know. He could never know. It was too late to get answers.

“But you can’t blame yourself either, Adrien,” Marinette said earnestly as she turned her face up to look at him. “Promise me you won’t.”

“I can’t.” Adrien’s voice cracked. “After everything…. I _can’t_. I don’t want to lie to you, my lady.”

“You don’t have to.” Marinette reached up and brushed the tears from his cheek. “You’re strong, Adrien. You can get through this. _We_ can get through this. Together.”

“But what if we can’t?”

“We _will_ ,” she whispered fiercely. “You only need to be willing to try.”

The idea was almost laughable, except that Marinette was not suggesting everything would be the same. It would never be the same. _He_ would never be the same, and neither would she. But maybe they could be less broken.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Adrien said. For the first time that day, he truly meant it. “Thank you.”


	2. Part II: Plagg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of sleep, my brain decided to provide me with this last night. **This portion contains spoilers for the origin episodes.** Also, a **brief, implied reference to suicide** , just in passing.

“Plagg?”

It was the first time Adrien had called for him in days. 

It was the first time Adrien had tried to talk to him since Hawk Moth’s defeat.

It was the first time Adrien had even acknowledged him since the funeral.

Plagg opened his eyes and yawned. It was the middle of the night, but he had not been sleeping. He had not been sleeping any better than his boy had been, but Adrien didn’t need to know that. Adrien needed him right now. That was why he was still here.

Well, that and the fact that leaving wasn’t going to be any easier on him, no matter what he’d tried to tell himself.

He’d let himself get attached.

Again.

“What is it?” he asked as he floated over to Adrien, easily dodging all obstacles in his path. He had taken to hiding out of sight, not wanting to bear Adrien’s misplaced anger any more than he had to, but he still felt…responsible. Bad luck followed him, and destruction was the power he granted. He could understand why his boy might blame him for what had happened.

Adrien was huddled in the middle of his bed. He had at some point pulled a blanket around himself, but it had fallen open so Plagg landed lightly on one of his knees. He could see perfectly well in the dark, but his boy could not, and Adrien needed to know he was there beyond catching the flash of his eyes.

“Does it get easier?”

Plagg knew what Adrien was asking, of course. He would have known even if he couldn’t see the tear tracks on his boy’s face, couldn’t hear the hitch in his voice or feel him trembling. He wondered if Tikki was having an easier time with Ladybug. The pain would be different, the guilt perhaps a tad less crushing, but Tikki was much better at understanding humans than he was.

Maybe he could still get away with avoidance. “How should I know? I don’t understand you humans.” 

His boy sniffed and wiped at his nose with his arm. “But you understand this,” he whispered. “You understand loss. You have to. I’m not the first Chat Noir.”

Plagg froze, but his boy had called his bluff. He felt himself droop. Adrien was right. His past held death. His past held loss. It was full of departures, some more abrupt than others. He always thought the next time might be easier than the last.

He was always wrong.

“I’m just….” Adrien’s voice cracked. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know _how_ to do this.” 

“You live,” Plagg said flatly. “You have to. You take each day as it comes, and you live.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Adrien’s voice was soft but steadier than it had been. “I wasn’t…. I mean, I don’t have any other choice….” He trailed off, but Plagg knew what he really meant: he had never contemplated any other option. “It’s just…. It _hurts_ , Plagg, and I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. I’m not even sure what happened anymore.”

He knew what had happened. He knew exactly what had happened. His poor boy, when exhaustion finally claimed him, woke screaming or crying when his nightmares forced him to relive the experience. What he didn’t entirely understand was _how_ it had happened. “Cataclysm was never meant to be used on living things.” Not humans or animals, anyway, though it had proven advantageous on trees in the past, lifetimes ago. “Chat Noir is granted the power of destruction, and something as fragile as life is not exempt from that.”

Adrien’s breathing became more ragged, his trembling harder. Plagg had known his words wouldn’t exactly bring comfort, but he knew his boy would need to understand. “So…so if Ladybug has the power of creation, then she could’ve—? If we’d…. If it had happened during a fight and she’d cleansed the akuma, I mean, and restored everything to the way it had been?”

His poor boy was going to destroy himself with those thoughts. “What’s done is done. You can’t change the past. There’s no use wondering about _ifs_ or _maybes_.”

“But I don’t even know if it was intentional or not!” Adrien’s words had been shouted, but there was no one else near enough to hear him. Adrien had refused Nathalie’s offer to stay in the rooms next to his, refused to let anyone stay closer to him than the next wing. He hadn’t wanted to give anyone a chance to realize the truth, and he’d pushed away everyone. He even held Ladybug at arm’s length, despite finally learning her identity. He still wanted to protect her from his own pain as best he could.

Plagg could have told him that isolating himself was not the best method for dealing with his pain, his grief and guilt, but he had refused to listen to a word Plagg had said before now. 

Adrien sucked in a breath, and Plagg felt as much as he heard the shuddering. “Plagg,” murmured Adrien, “did he _know_? He didn’t know who I was until after, I know he didn’t, but did he know what was going to happen? Did he have a better idea than I did? Did he twist that way on purpose, to stop himself, thinking it was the only way to end this? Or was he just trying to get away? I don’t even know _why_ he was doing this, not really. What if I’d seen it before? Or what if he had managed to get my Miraculous and found out it was me sooner? Would it have still…?”

His boy dissolved into tears again. Plagg let him have a few moments to cry. He needed to cry. But he couldn’t continue questioning like that; he’d never get answers, and he’d only find more ways to blame himself. “You won’t be able to puzzle out the answers. You shouldn’t torture yourself by trying.”

A few more sniffs, a few more steadying breaths. “Maybe I can’t figure it out on my own, Plagg, but I can get some answers. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Under different circumstances, Plagg would have promised Adrien the world just to see him smile again. It hurt _him_ to see his boy so broken. But he knew what Adrien was going to ask.

His boy had finally remembered something Plagg had hoped he’d forgotten.

“He had a Miraculous. That means he had a kwami, right? Plagg, if I can just talk—”

“No.”

Adrien frowned. “Why not? You must know who the kwami is, and if we just go back to fetch the Miraculous—”

“It won’t be there anymore.” Wayzz would have sensed the situation almost immediately, but Plagg had still sneaked off to make a report to Master Fu and learned that Tikki had done the same. Nooroo’s Miraculous, rendered inactive by Hawk Moth’s death, would have been retrieved by now. Nooroo himself would be in stasis unless Master Fu had activated the Miraculous and wakened him.

“But—”

“You can’t question Nooroo, Adrien.” His boy’s moods were hardly stable, and that questioning could all too easily turn into blaming. Plagg would not blame him for it if that happened, but Nooroo was not at fault. “Even if you could, he won’t have all the answers you’re looking for. The Miraculous aren’t meant to be used for evil purposes, but Nooroo’s powers were twisted to create supervillains. He was a prisoner. Whatever your father’s ends, Nooroo was simply the means being used to attain them.”

“You don’t know—”

“I know Nooroo. He would’ve been a tool, and a tool isn’t told everything.”

“But he might have an idea, an inkling, anything—”

“I know Nooroo,” Plagg repeated, “and he’ll still have grown attached. Do you think it’s any easier on us to lose one of you?” His accusation came out sharper than he’d intended.

Adrien said nothing, and the silence stretched.

Plagg was grateful he wouldn’t be more than two bright green eyes set in a fuzzy outline in the darkness to his boy. He didn’t need Adrien feeling worse by realizing what he’d dredged up from Plagg’s past. He certainly didn’t need Adrien wondering just how fresh some of that pain was for him.

He never felt the years pass when his Miraculous was inactive. It was easier to start fresh than it had been, to explain the situation and the rules and to push the past aside, but he felt every loss keenly, however he’d been forced back into stasis.

Rejection still felt little better than death, and even a willing parting was not easy.

But humans were fragile.

They broke easily and aged quickly, and he could do little to protect them when he wasn’t working through the Miraculous.

“It’s hard,” Plagg said stiffly. “You wear a mask. You live your mask. You aim for the day it’s not a mask anymore, but that doesn’t mean it won’t slip. You won’t always be able to distract yourself, especially at the beginning. It’s the little things, usually, that catch you off guard, some sight or smell or snatch of song, but the bigger reminders aren’t necessarily easier to bear even if you think you’re prepared for them. And that, what you’re feeling right now? That’ll come back. And you won’t be able to put off dealing with it for any longer, and it will remain until you find the strength to push it back down again. Does it get easier? In a way. But it doesn’t mean you won’t feel the loss. You loved your father, Adrien, and now he’s gone; that hasn’t changed.”

His speech was met with silence, but Adrien cupped his hands around Plagg and shifted, easing his legs down and bringing Plagg to his eye level. Plagg could smell the salt in his boy’s tears, but his hands didn’t shake like they once had. He supposed that was a good thing; Adrien may yet get some of the sleep he needed tonight, and that was worth the price of giving up his own mask.

“I’m sorry.”

Plagg couldn’t look his boy, his Adrien, in the eyes. He’d tried to keep this Chat Noir at a safe distance, to focus only on the possibility of tasting delicious camembert once more whenever fighting wasn’t necessary, and he had failed. Now his boy was broken inside, sharp shards cutting into him however he looked at the situation, and Plagg wished he could be there for him forever. Or at least until the end.

But the Ring of the Black Cat was too powerful a Miraculous to be kept out when inactive, even when its current wielder was a boy like Adrien.

Perhaps especially when, given what he might very well give up in exchange for Ladybug if it came to it.

Right now, Adrien needed him and they couldn’t yet be certain a new evil wouldn’t well up to fill the void left by Hawk Moth, so Plagg was allowed to remain. But the day would come when Adrien still thought he needed him, but Plagg would be gone, recalled, and he knew it was going to be his fault for breaking his boy’s heart all over again.

He didn’t know how Tikki could do it.

Plagg still did not meet Adrien’s eyes but he made some sound of acknowledgement, and Adrien hugged him to his chest. “I’m sorry, Plagg,” he repeated. “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I didn’t stop to think about how hard this would’ve been on you, too, and I’m sorry.”

In many cases, grief shared was grief more easily borne. Guilt was little different. Plagg did not have Wayzz’s ability to sense other kwami or the delicate shifting of the balance that came with each Miraculous activation, but if he had managed to find Nooroo, perhaps….

No.

He mustn’t think like that, either.

He must simply be happy that Nooroo was free again, that Hawk Moth’s dark wings had fallen at last. He must be grateful that his boy had physically survived the fight with this evil and grateful that he would be able to see Adrien through the worst of his emotional struggle as well. 

“Please don’t leave me, Plagg,” Adrien whispered as if he knew Plagg’s thoughts. “Marinette wants to be there for me without anyone realizing how much has changed between us, Nathalie is trying her best to mother me until everything is sorted out, and the Gorilla won’t let me out of his sight if I leave the house, but I have to be strong for them, too, and I’ve realized that I just need someone…someone who doesn’t….” Adrien swallowed. “I need you,” he said thickly. “I asked Nino and everyone else for some space and they’re trying to respect that but sometimes I…sometimes I just need….”

“I’ll stay with you as long as I can, Adrien. I promise.” He could not promise _forever_ , however much he wanted to. He did not want to abandon his boy, but perhaps, by the time he finally had to leave, it wouldn’t feel as much like abandonment. Maybe, by that time, Adrien would merely be moving on and Plagg would be the one left behind.

Adrien slowly lay back down, adjusting blankets and resting his head on his pillow again. Plagg kept close to him throughout his shifting and finally settled down on Adrien’s chest, curling up right over his heart. He thought he saw a ghost of a smile appear on his boy’s face before it was gone.

“ _Bonne nuit_ , Plagg.”

“ _Bonne nuit_ , Adrien.” Plagg did not know how much of the night was left, but he certainly hoped his presence would help chase away Adrien’s nightmares so he could have a good night’s sleep again. He needed his rest. 

Once Adrien’s breathing finally smoothed out and fell into a slow, steady rhythm, Plagg closed his own eyes.

Perhaps things would seem better in the morning, perhaps not, but until they did, he would be there for his boy. Adrien _needed_ him, and Plagg wasn’t about to give up on him.


	3. Part III: Marinette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for this fic being a one-shot, right? Ah, well. Thanks to everyone for all the kind words!

“I think I lied to him, Tikki.”

It was a difficult admission for Marinette to make. She knew she hadn’t lost as much as Adrien. _Her_ parents were still here, alive and well and _with_ her, _loving_ her, but she had never imagined that defeating Hawk Moth— _destroying_ him—would also destroy Chat Noir, destroy _Adrien_ , the way it had. Neither of them had seen the signs, and now….

Now she was spending Sunday night locked in her room, surrounded by her sewing supplies despite claiming she had schoolwork to do and ignoring messages from Alya inviting her out for the evening.

She didn’t want to go anywhere.

She wasn’t sure she deserved to go anywhere, really, but she certainly didn’t feel like it. She was doing a poor job of wearing a mask now, of trying to pretend everything was normal and nothing had really changed for her. Everyone knew she was shaken up, but they assumed it was a combination of stress, empathy for Adrien, and grieving the loss of one of her idols. They assumed that what kept her awake at night were normal things teenagers worried about.

They didn’t know she was practically an accomplice for murder.

Tikki jumped off her perch on Marinette’s mannequin and landed on her shoulder instead. “About what, Marinette?” She didn’t need to ask to know that Marinette had been referring to Adrien.

“I don’t know if we _can_ get through this,” Marinette mumbled, shifting position so she could hug her knees and huddle in on herself. “Adrien might not blame me, but this _is_ my fault. I _told_ him to use Cataclysm, and…and….”

“Marinette,” Tikki began in that patient tone she’d been using all week, “you didn’t lie. You _will_ get through this. It was an accident. You can’t blame yourself, and you already know Adrien doesn’t blame you.”

“But he’s _dead_.” Marinette’s voice broke on the last word. “Adrien’s father is _dead_ , Tikki, and I can’t fix it! I couldn’t bring him back, I couldn’t restore anything, and I couldn’t _save_ him. What kind of hero can’t even save the people who need it the most?”

Tikki was silent, and Marinette wiped furiously at her eyes. She had no right to pretend nothing was wrong when it wasn’t, and it never took long once she was alone for her façade to crumble entirely. She didn’t know how Adrien could be so strong. She was trying to be strong for him, but every time she tried to visit him, she started crying before he could, and then she’d thought that perhaps what he’d needed from her was space.

She was Ladybug, after all, and the reason his father was no longer alive.

If she weren’t Ladybug, if she never had been or if she’d given up her Miraculous, then Gabriel Agreste might still be alive.

But Hawk Moth might still be terrorizing Paris if he were.

She’d ended up trading his life for the safety of everyone in Paris, even if she hadn’t done so intentionally, and she wasn’t sure if it had been the right call.

Chat Noir hadn’t _really_ needed to use Cataclysm back there. He could simply have tried to _take_ the Miraculous. Its removal would have caused Hawk Moth to lose his transformation, and from there….

They could still have won from there, without anyone dying.

“Do you think this was a failure?” Tikki finally asked.

“Someone’s dead. Of course it’s a failure.”

“You and Chat Noir stopped a great evil.”

“And Chat Noir, _Adrien Agreste_ , lost his father because of it.” Marinette swallowed but forced the next words out. “That’s too high of a price, Tikki, and it’s my fault. I should have figured out another way. I should have known better than to ask Chat Noir to risk using Cataclysm that close to someone, even if it _was_ Hawk Moth. He once told me he’d wondered what Cataclysm would do if he’d used it on a person, and now I’ve ensured that he’ll always have nightmares about it!”

“So you _are_ trying to take the blame for this accident upon yourself.”

Marinette finally turned her head to look at Tikki. “If I’d acted differently, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“ _Maybe_ , Marinette. _Maybe_. You don’t know anything for certain. Things could have been much worse.”

“How could they have been worse?” Marinette burst out.

Tikki didn’t blink. “You and Adrien could both be dead and Hawk Moth could control the Earrings of the Ladybug and the Ring of the Black Cat. Plagg and I could both be prisoners like Nooroo, and Hawk Moth’s influence truly would be terrifying then.”

Marinette bit back her protests. Tikki’s voice had taken on a hard edge she wasn’t used to hearing from the kwami, and the look in her eye…. She looked more than worried about the possibility; she looked downright terrified about it and beyond relieved that it hadn’t happened. Tikki thought one death was worth the price of freedom and safety, not just for her but for all of Paris. 

It made Marinette wonder what Tikki had seen in her 3000 odd years to have come to that conclusion with such apparent ease, and she decided very quickly that she didn’t want to know.

“All right,” agreed Marinette reluctantly, “it could have been worse, but it could have been much better, too.”

“But what’s done is done,” Tikki pointed out, “and it cannot be changed. I understand that you feel guilty, Marinette. I understand that you’re scared by what happened, by the possibility of discovery, by how it’s changed who you are and how you see the world. I know you’re scared of what all of this _means_. But you were always scared, weren’t you? Yet you fought anyway. Because you’re brave and you’re strong. You did not lie to Adrien, Marinette. You will both get through this.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Marinette had thought the constricting pain she felt in her chest—more emotional than physical but with a distinctive weight nonetheless—would ease with time. It hadn’t. And having to smile, even if only half-heartedly, made her feel more like she was living a lie than she had ever felt when she was scrambling for excuses to cover her actions as Ladybug.

She was wearing a different mask now, one where she pretended everything was all right, and she felt like she was being crushed because _nothing_ was all right.

She wished she could talk to her parents.

She wished she could talk to Alya.

She wished she had the nerve to try to talk to Adrien again, if only because he would understand, but it wasn’t fair to burden him with her pain, too. He had more than enough of his own, and she…she didn’t deserve….

“I know you’re here, Tikki,” Marinette whispered as her body began trembling again, “but I still feel very much alone.” Closing her eyes against her tears didn’t help, and Tikki’s words were doing nothing to ease the awful feeling that threatened to consume her. Marinette could see the sense in what Tikki was saying, but in her heart….

In her heart, all that mattered was that someone was dead. That that someone was Adrien’s father only made things worse.

She felt alone. It was laughable, when she was not the one who was now alone in the world. The thought of it made her chest tighten even more, made it more difficult to breathe, and she just ached inside.

She still had her family, but she’d surrounded herself in a barrier of secrets and within them, she was alone.

Unless….

“Tikki? I know we defeated Hawk Moth, and I know I’ve stopped patrolling, but do you think you could transform me anyway?” Alya’s blog had been full of news over the apparent disappearance of Ladybug and Chat Noir, which may have been her own way of distracting herself from thinking about the news from the Agreste household, but Marinette hadn’t been able to bring herself to even put in a token appearance. She hadn’t felt like a hero who was even worthy of saving a cat from a tree, not anymore.

“You know you don’t need to ask, Marinette.”

Marinette swallowed, though the lump in her throat remained. “Spots on, Tikki.” Even if it was just one last time, she needed to get out, and she needed to clear her head and run.

The cool evening air was refreshing, but even the night sights of the City of Lights did nothing to improve her mood. She was not entirely surprised when she found herself in front of the Agreste mansion. She knew from past experience where Adrien’s room was, which window was the easiest to open from the outside and where—in part thanks to Alya—the hidden cameras for the security system were located, which was a blessing as those were far more difficult to avoid than the blatant cameras meant to discourage would-be burglars. 

Of course, she knew now that some of her ease of avoiding all those cameras came from the fact that Adrien was Chat Noir and he had long since repositioned anything which might have caught his questionable activities as Paris’s hero.

Still, Marinette felt strangely nervous as she used her yo-yo to swing up to the appropriate window and knock lightly. 

Adrien answered almost immediately and let her in without asking questions. He looked…weary, his perfect model image finally showing cracks under the strain. She’d half expected his room to be a disaster—hers certainly was, now, for all that she usually tried to keep it neat—but everything was in order with almost heart-wrenching rigidity. 

“Spots off, Tikki,” Marinette murmured. Adrien offered her a place to sit, but she remained standing in the middle of his room. She felt foolish, but she knew what she was craving now. It wasn’t conversation. Justifications and excuses and reasons didn’t matter at the moment. Tikki was right: what was done was done. She couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t make things better. 

And she couldn’t make _herself_ better, not on her own.

“How are you holding up, Marinette?” Adrien asked. His voice sounded almost hoarse. Raw, she realized as she took in his red eyes. He’d been crying. She must have interrupted him.

She immediately felt worse.

“I’m, well, I’m about as, um…. As well as I can be, I guess.” From the corner of her eyes, she saw Tikki zip off to tumble into a black blur that must have been Adrien’s kwami. Plagg, Tikki had called him. 

At least Adrien hadn’t been completely alone.

Marinette bit her lip to stop herself from asking how Adrien himself was holding up. She knew he was waiting for an explanation of why she was here. Rubbing one arm nervously, she began, “I’m sorry for running over unannounced. I should have called or…something. I just wasn’t thinking. I mean, I wasn’t planning…. Not that I didn’t _intend_ to, eventually, just not right….” She broke off. Taking a deep breath, she admitted, “It sounds ridiculous, but I just…. I think I need a hug.” One from someone who understood, who wouldn’t ask questions, who would just hold her and _be_ there.

Adrien crossed the space between them without a word and enveloped her in a tight hug. Marinette wrapped her arms around him and just focused on the warmth and pressure of his strong embrace that seemed to loosen the pressure inside of her. She could feel his heartbeat and her own and hear their quiet, measured breaths, neither of them far from crying, but somehow she felt better than she had since the day she’d revealed herself to him. 

Maybe Tikki was right.

Maybe it hadn’t been a lie that she’d told him after all.

Maybe they _would_ get through this.

But they couldn’t do it alone. She couldn’t, at least. But together…. Together, they could be strong enough to get through this without breaking further.


	4. Part IV: Chloé

Chloé slammed her bedroom door shut, locked it, and dropped her shopping bags on the floor. Shopping was supposed to help her feel better. She’d gone out nearly every day, and it _wasn’t helping_. Sabrina had been sent for the day before, but after a shouting match Chloé had won, she had wisely stayed away today.

For once, Chloé wasn’t in the mood for simpering support. Sabrina was her lackey, the girl who did her homework and fetched whatever she needed. Her loyalty was bought with the occasional gift, the promise of being allowed to borrow some coveted object, and the protection being near Chloé would bring her. 

Yes, she appreciated Sabrina’s presence. Most of the time, anyway. She wouldn’t deny that it felt good to assert her authority when she could. Or that it felt good not to be alone.

Sabrina considered Chloé her friend and seemed happy enough with the way that friendship worked. Others thought they were friends, too. Chloé wasn’t sure that was the case.

You were supposed to confide in friends.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to try to share the weight of this burden with Sabrina.

_Complaining_ was easy. She complained to Sabrina all the time. She bragged and boasted, gloated and preened. She took what was her due, even if others were too foolish to realize that she was the one who deserved it; Sabrina had a good eye there and would often defend her, but that merely made her loyal to the girl who was on top. It didn’t make her a friend. 

Not a real friend, anyway. 

Chloé had never shown her whole self to Sabrina. Most people figured Chloé was shallow; they would call her that to her face and never think to look deeper. They never thought they _needed_ to look deeper. She’d gotten good at keeping things hidden, and for good reason. Every time there was a crack in her exterior, it hurt. And she _hated_ that pain, hated how weak and helpless it made her feel, hated how much it just _hurt_ as she was torn up inside, piece by piece.

It was easier not to feel that, easier to just determinedly ignore it and shove it aside. It was better to step up and take charge of the situation, to be in control and see that things were done her way, some way where she wouldn’t be hurt like that again. It was easier to focus on shopping, the latest in fashion or the finest-quality Ladybug costume, anything that was as far from the pain as possible. It was best to concentrate on how she looked, to get to the point that her makeup and perfect hair and best clothes money could buy weren’t just covering up a cracked surface anymore. They had served as armour in the beginning, but armour could be stripped away, so Chloé had embraced it as part of her skin, part of her very self.

So maybe that made her shallow.

She didn’t want to be deep.

This, what she was feeling now, was just an echo of Adrien’s current pain. She knew that. She still had her father. He would do anything for her. He would have since before she’d lost her mother, she suspected, but she knew her mother had tempered his tendencies. Now that her mother wasn’t there, André spoiled her. She knew this. She had no qualms about taking advantage of that. It gave her distance. It gave her power. It gave her control.

Until something like this reminded her that she’d never have enough control.

Chloé threw herself onto her bed and screamed into her pillow, screamed until the tears began to take away her breath. It wasn’t _fair_. She had lost her mother. And when she’d been convinced she’d never recover from that, convinced that it was the end of the world—how naïve had she been!—Adrien’s mother had begun taking a larger role in her life.

She’d given Chloé love and attention, advice and a listening ear. Chloé had still been young enough that she and Adrien had been allowed to play together at that point. From what she knew of Sabrina’s childhood, most of it hadn’t been real _play_ , but they had enjoyed each other’s company, and she had latched herself to Adrien long before he had ever started modelling for his father’s company.

She had never been jealous of him for that. Well. Not much. Not compared to how much she’d been jealous of him for having his mother. All of Chloé’s memories of Mme Agreste depicted a kind but fair woman, if stubborn and headstrong and fiercely protective of her family and everyone she accepted into it. She was quick to laugh and had a bright twinkle in her eye and a sense of humour that most people wouldn’t expect out of her. Most people who met Mme Agreste had misjudged her, taken her to be someone else at first glance. Only the people who really knew her knew what a treasure she had been to have around. Only those people had realized that there was something else, something much greater, to the woman than she had shown the world.

Chloé had had a glimpse of that. Once clearly, the day she’d received Mme Agreste’s brooch, but she’d seen bits of it bleeding through before.

Maybe that was why she hadn’t been completely surprised when she’d heard the news that Mme Agreste was gone. She’d still been shocked; she’d been devastated and had felt abandoned because even if Mme Agreste hadn’t been her mother, she’d begun to _feel_ like she was. But Chloé hadn’t been surprised. Not really.

Adrien had been crushed.

Chloé had tried to be his rock, even as his father withdrew. She wasn’t sure she’d managed. Adrien had anchored himself more firmly to his father, seeking his approval despite ever-tightening rules and growing expectations. He’d grown even more distant from her since he’d begun attending school, and pushing her way into his life hadn’t reminded him of what they’d once shared.

Of course, she’d been too afraid of reopening old wounds to let him—let alone anyone else—so much as brush over a former crack in her perfectly crafted façade. She’d wanted to be strong, to _show_ him that she was strong, that she’d moved past all of that, that she’d _survived_ it, just as he had. They belonged together for more reasons than just because they came from the same sort of families and knew each other as children. They belonged together because they both understood how the other felt. 

And then Adrien’s father had died abruptly, and Chloé’s precarious control of her life and her emotions had shattered.

It wasn’t _fair_. She didn’t _want_ to feel this pain again, to look at Adrien’s face and remember the last time she’d seen that expression on him, remember when she’d seen it on herself in the mirror so long ago. She didn’t _want_ that awful ache to take up residence in her chest again, her eyes to prickle and tear against her will as a lump grew in her throat. She didn’t _want_ to have to try to smother her crying in this pillow. _Not again_.

Except she was.

Chloé waited for her sobs to abate before she dared turn her head from her pillow. She allowed herself to curl up on her side and just breathe, to let the tears dry themselves as she fought back the pain and fought to get her emotions under control again. She had no great love for M. Agreste—he had nothing on the warmth of her own father, who did his best to make time for her despite his busy schedule and who otherwise showed his love for her—but she had respected him. She’d learned plenty from him, and she appreciated that. But she still….

She hadn’t expected to take his loss this hard.

She hadn’t expected it to tear down all her barriers, to expose her raw emotions like this.

She hadn’t expected to relive the death of her mother or the loss of Adrien’s now that his father was gone, too.

She hadn’t expected to feel so guilty because she was grateful that her own father was still alive.

Adrien had said little to her at the private funeral and less at the public reception, but he had said little to all of them. She knew how close he had grown to Nino, how easily he had once laughed with Alya and Marinette. But he had tried shutting them all out now.

She could understand that, really. The shock. The disbelief and the denial. The realization of all the lost opportunities and moments that had been taken for granted and everything that should have happened, however simple, but now never would. The cruel acceptance of what had happened and all the questions that would never have answers. The feeling of wanting to be alone warring with _not_ wanting to be alone. The determination that you had to be strong for others struggling to survive the sudden weakness wrought by whatever random object or scent or word had sparked a memory of everything that had been lost. 

She remembered what it felt like to crumble and cry. She remembered how much it _hurt_. She remembered how exhausted she had been, drained by grief and the demands of surviving while never being able to replenish her strength overnight. She remembered screaming until her throat was raw, crying until her father’s shirt was soaked through, and choking on crazed laughter when she’d been at her wit’s end. She remembered jumping from distraction to distraction, anything so she didn’t have to think or remember.

But this wasn’t the first time she had locked herself in her room, even if her father wasn’t on the other side of the door this time trying to coax her back out into that painful world.

_“It’s good to grieve, sweetheart,”_ he’d told her. _“You loved her. I know how you feel. I loved her, too. That’s why it hurts, Chloé, and that’s why I’m here, and that’s why you’re here for me. So we can get through this.”_

“I love you, Daddy,” Chloé whispered to herself as she hugged her knees. He was the only reason she was as strong as she was now. He’d helped her through the loss of two mothers, really.

But Adrien….

She wasn’t sure if he _had_ any family left. Not relations he knew well, at any rate, and certainly none in Paris. She had never asked outright, of course—she knew better than that—but she’d gotten the impression that their family had been estranged from the rest. She wasn’t even sure if he knew his grandparents, assuming they were still alive. There would be inquiries, of course, and boring paperwork and tedious red tape, but he couldn’t stay at the Agreste residence himself with only the servants for company. Something was going to change.

She didn’t want it to change.

She didn’t want any of this to have happened.

But it had happened, and everything would change.

Not even Ladybug and Chat Noir could stop that.

Chloé took a slow, deep breath and _willed_ herself not to cry. And then she pushed herself up and went through the familiar routine of washing her face, reapplying her makeup, and fixing her hair. She felt a stab of guilt that she didn’t still have Mme Agreste’s brooch to put on her jacket—she could have used it as a reminder if nothing else—but Sabrina had yet to return it. Still, Chloé knew what she had to do.

And perhaps she should give warning, but the last thing she needed was to be shut out at the gates.

“I’m going out, Daddy!” Chloé yelled as she left her room. She doubted he was around to hear that personally, but the message would be relayed by their servants. 

She chose to walk to the Agreste mansion. It was approaching suppertime when she arrived, but she doubted she would be disturbing anything. She doubted Adrien had an appetite, and anything he did eat would be because it was put in front of him. Nathalie might even decide company at this time was just what he needed.

Unfortunately, Chloé had misjudged Nathalie Sancoeur. _“Adrien does not wish to be disturbed,”_ she said coolly, refusing to open the gates. Had anyone _else_ been manning that station, this wouldn’t have been a problem.

Chloé’s already-erratic temper flared. “Let me in,” she growled, “or I’ll tell Daddy.”

_“The mayor has no jurisdiction on private property.”_

“I don’t _care_ ,” snapped Chloé. “Let me in. You _know_ Adrien needs to see his friends right now even if he doesn’t want us there.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment before the gates opened. Chloé harrumphed and stalked in, hating that she’d needed to be screened like some simple commoner. The Bourgeois name carried weight, and Mme Sancoeur knew that. She shouldn’t have hesitated, let alone challenged Chloé, even if she _was_ acting on Adrien’s orders.

Chloé was one of the few classmates of Adrien’s—if not the only one—who knew his house well enough to know exactly where to find him. She didn’t need to see the untouched platter of food outside to know where he was hiding. She knocked on his bedroom door before trying it, and she frowned when she realized that he’d locked it. She knocked louder. 

There was no response.

“Adrien, it’s Chloé.” Now wasn’t the time for pet names. “We should talk.” She bit her tongue before she could demand that he open the door, too. Honey, not vinegar. She needed him to listen to her, so she stamped down her anger and frustration. For Adrien’s sake. “Let me in. _S’il vous plait_.” The phrase felt unfamiliar on her tongue now; it had been so long since she’d had cause to say a simple _please_ , especially among her peers.

“I don’t want to talk, Chloé.”

“Then _don’t_ talk,” Chloé shot back, losing her grip on her annoyance. “Let _me_ talk. Just let me in!” She rattled the door handle, but it was still locked. “You’re being stupid!” It wasn’t an accusation she would’ve been able to make in public, and maybe she shouldn’t have made it now, but he _was_ being stubborn and thick-headed and obstinate and clearly didn’t know what was best for him.

She did.

“Adrien Agreste, if you make me have to _knock_ this door down—”

To Chloé’s surprise, she heard a small laugh escape Adrien, and then she heard footsteps and the door unlatched. He stood aside to let her in, smiling ruefully. 

“It’s about time,” she huffed as she stalked inside. “It’s impolite to make a girl wait.”

Adrien didn’t rise to the bait; he merely closed the door again and looked at her, clearly waiting for her to say something.

And what _was_ she to say? Now that she was actually here, she wasn’t sure she’d made the right call. Which was ridiculous, because she was always in the right. Chloé sniffed and glanced around the room, which was pristine as always. It had been ages since she’d been in here, and now she didn’t even have cause to enjoy it.

A part of her wanted to berate Adrien, to yell at him for thinking about trying to get through this by himself. Another part of her wanted to blame _him_ for his father’s death and subsequently reminding her of earlier pains, which was even more ridiculous than the idea that she’d been wrong to come in the first place. This wasn’t Adrien’s fault. The fool might blame himself for it, though. She had little doubt he could find a way if he tried, and she had no doubt that he _had_ tried. 

It was Adrien, after all.

You’d think he was a hero like Ladybug and Chat Noir, the way he tried to take the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Chloé crossed her arms and tapped her toe impatiently; Adrien had made no move from the door. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want?”

“I figured you’d tell me,” Adrien answered.

She should smack him for that, but it was Adrien. “You can’t shut yourself in here like this,” she said instead. “When was the last time you even ate something?” Her nose wrinkled, and she caught a whiff of camembert. “Something _besides_ stinky cheese.” Since when had Adrien begun eating _that_? She’d thought she’d smelled the like at school before but had always assumed someone else was the origin.

Adrien pulled a face. “I’m still eating, Chloé,” he said as he finally moved to the couch. He sat down and motioned for her to join him. She did. “I’m just…not that hungry even when I do eat.”

She didn’t ask how much sleep he was getting; she knew it would be less than she was. It was the first time in a long time that she could remember seeing bags under his eyes, and she _knew_ how good he could look with next to no sleep. “Oh?” It came out as a challenge. Maybe it was. “So you’re still taking care of yourself, are you? Because you’re obviously not letting anyone else close enough to do that.” She didn’t bother trying to keep the bite out of her voice.

Maybe she was a little bit angry at him. She shouldn’t be. She still was.

It was easier to be angry at him than at the life she couldn’t control.

Adrien wasn’t supposed to fall apart. He was Paris’s most popular teenage model, at least among her age group, and he’d faced a lot of the hurdles that came with that fame. He wasn’t allowed to let this break him. Not publicly, at least. He had to put up a strong front for everyone else. He should only let the cracks show to the people who knew him best. People like her. Everyone else needed to see the survivor of the tragedy.

He might hate her for it now, but he’d thank her later if she saved his career.

Adrien hadn’t answered her, so Chloé kept her next words blunt. “Maybe I don’t know exactly what you’re going through,” she spat, sure he was thinking that, “but I know what it’s like to lose a parent. Or have you forgotten that?”

Adrien flinched. “This isn’t the same, Chloé.”

“Did I say it was?”

“No, but—”

“Adrien, think about it. What did your father teach you? Your mother? Would they want you to be shut up in your room for days on end? Would they want you to stop _living_ , just because they aren’t in a position to watch you do it? Would they want you ignoring your own wellbeing, selfishly ignoring your friends and everyone else who cares about you, just so you can wallow in your own self-pity?”

“Chloé—”

“You have to pretend!” Chloé didn’t care that she was shouting at him. It wasn’t crocodile tears that burned in her eyes now, and she suspected Adrien knew that. “I know it’s hard, Adrien. I know it’s like you’ve stopped moving and everything keeps going on around you and it feels like it doesn’t matter what happens, but it _does_. Because you can’t stand still forever. And maybe you don’t _want_ to let things go back to normal, maybe—”

“Things will never go back to normal,” Adrien whispered.

“It’s not a betrayal to let them,” Chloé insisted stubbornly. “A semblance of normality, at least. And it won’t be normal at the start, not for you, even if you are doing everything like you might’ve otherwise. That’s why you need to pretend. Until it becomes normal. Until things have settled down again.”

“Chloé, you still don’t get it.” He held up a hand to forestall her protests as she opened her mouth. She glared at him but let him speak. She was glad he was finally talking, but she didn’t want him to realize it. Not yet, anyway. “I…I know what you’re trying to say. I do. I can even appreciate it. But I’m not in the same situation as you were. I didn’t just lose Father. I….” He trailed off and didn’t meet her eyes.

“You’re blaming yourself.” It wasn’t a question. The boy _was_ a fool. “How can you blame yourself? It’s not like you gave your father a heart attack.” 

Adrien’s hand twitched. She caught the quiver of his chin, the slight flare of his nostrils, the uneven breath sucked in through his teeth. She saw him fight for control. He gained it, barely, though she doubted he could see her clearly through the tears in his eyes. “No,” Adrien agreed at length.

Chloé smiled and settled back, happy that he was finally seeing sense.

“I just stopped his heart.”

She felt the smile drop off her face. “What?” How was she even supposed to make sense of that? Her mother’s death hadn’t come as quickly; though the decline had been swift, it had still been a matter of weeks before the cancer had claimed her. Chloé had not understood that at the time. She hadn’t properly understood the concept of death at the time. But she’d thought she knew enough in hindsight and remembered enough of what she had felt, then and in later years, to be able to help Adrien through this.

Apparently she’d been wrong.

“I stopped his heart,” Adrien repeated. “I…. It was an accident, Chloé, but I still did it. And I…. I don’t even know if…. He wasn’t the man I’d thought he was, Chloé. You need to understand that. There was something…darker about him. I didn’t know that at the time. I never noticed it in him. Just…coldness. Mother’s absence. I thought that was all. But it was more than that. I fought against that darkness, that evil, and never even realized it had taken root in him until it was too late. I killed him, Chloé. I killed Father.”

She hadn’t thought Adrien was one to talk in metaphors, but…. She felt her brow crease. “Through stress, you mean?” It was a stretch if that _was_ his meaning, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

A single bark of what might have been laughter escaped Adrien, and he buried his head in his hands. “I wish I did,” he muttered.

“Adrien, you aren’t making sense.” That scared her more than she cared to admit. She put a careful hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t kill your father.”

He jerked away from her and was suddenly on his feet, facing away. “I did.” His voice sounded hollow. “I…. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, but I did. And it’s tearing me apart inside because I loved him, Chloé. I still love him, even knowing…even knowing everything.”

She hadn’t intended to tell anyone how this conversation with Adrien went, least of all Nathalie Sancoeur, but Chloé wasn’t sure she had a choice anymore. “Adrien—”

“Plagg. I need to show her.”

_Plagg?_ It was a name, from the way he said it, but whose, she had no idea. Having imaginary friends had been strongly discouraged for both of them. “Adrien, just sit down for a minute and listen to me, okay? I’m not asking you to take responsibility for this. I’m telling you to not shut yourself away. You don’t have to accept it. You just need to take the first step to moving on and living your life.”

Adrien wasn’t listening to her. He was staring in the direction of his computer desk, though she doubted that was what he was actually looking at. It didn’t matter. She’d make him listen to her. She had to.

Chloé was halfway to her feet when the phrase came out of Adrien’s mouth: “ _Claws out_.” She froze, hearing the weight in them even if she couldn’t understand it, and slowly straightened when nothing happened.

“Plagg, claws out!”

Chloé resisted the urge to look around as she slowly approached Adrien. “Adrien?”

Adrien was staring at his hands. “It’s gone.” He sounded bewildered. “How can it be gone?” Panic crept into his voice. “It can’t be gone!”

Chloé circled around and caught his hands. “It’s okay, Adrien.” He wasn’t okay, but she would make it okay. “It’s all right. We’ll find it.”

He shook his head and tore away from her, taking a desperate dive toward the couch and letting a searching hand scour every crevice. 

She had no idea what he was looking for, but she didn’t need to know in order to understand. Small things, things that were often taken for granted before, could have great importance after. She asked but was not entirely surprised when he didn’t stop long enough to give her a proper answer, didn’t explain what he was looking for or why. She just stood there as he stripped his bed, searched underneath and behind his furniture, and checked every corner and crack with increasing desperation.

When he finally stopped, sitting back on his knees after checking behind some of the arcade games, she went over to him. He was crying. She sat down beside him and put an arm around him. This time, he didn’t shrug her off.

“He promised.” Adrien’s voice cracked. “He can’t…. He wouldn’t have…. He _promised_.”

She knew better than to ask this time. “Sometimes we can’t keep promises, even when we want to. Even when we try to.”

“He wouldn’t have just left me,” Adrien insisted. “He wouldn’t have. Not after he promised.”

Chloé closed her eyes. This sort of thing wasn’t her forte, especially when she wasn’t sure who Adrien was talking about or what he’d lost. “Then maybe he’ll come back when he can and explain. But until then, I’m here for you. I mean it. I know what this feels like. Don’t forget that.”

Adrien made what might have been an affirmative sound. Chloé decided to take what she could get and didn’t press him this time. They sat in silence even once his breathing steadied out again, long past the time pins and needles pricked painfully in her legs, but she didn’t dare move. If this is what Adrien needed right now, then she would be here to give it to him.

She didn’t want to fail him again.


	5. Part V: Tikki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with Plagg’s chapter, there’s a **brief mention of suicide** , mostly because the same topic comes up again before it slides away. Thanks to everyone who’s been reading and commenting upon this story!

Beside Tikki, safely tucked away in Marinette’s purse, Marinette’s cell phone began to ring. 

“You better get that,” Tikki heard Alya say, “or your parents will phone me next.”

“Sorry,” came Marinette’s reply as she opened the purse. Tikki handed her phone up to her, though she was still careful not to be seen by Alya. That would invite more questions than Marinette could answer. Hawk Moth may have been defeated, but Ladybug’s secret must still be kept. Hawk Moth had not been the first villain Tikki had faced, and he would not be the last. “I thought I was free after dinner.” The purse was closed again, but not before Tikki saw Marinette glance at the phone and freeze.

“It’s Adrien, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Marinette answered quietly. 

The phone continued to ring.

“You should answer it.”

“I know, I just…. I never know what to say.” Marinette sighed. “Hello?” There was a beat of silence, then, “What? Whoa, whoa, Adrien, slow down. No, no, she hasn’t— He wouldn’t, Adrien. You know that.”

“What’s going on?” Alya hissed.

Tikki had not heard much, but she suspected she knew. She could say nothing with Alya present, of course, but Marinette was already on her way to rectifying that. There were a few whispered words, a few more exchanged with Adrien, and then Marinette had left Alya behind and was running.

Tikki had spent enough time riding with Marinette to have an idea of where they were even without seeing her surroundings. They were not far from the Agreste residence, and she wasn’t surprised when Marinette didn’t stop to transform. Instead, Marinette found herself begging to be let in at the gates.

_“Adrien already saw Chloé this evening,”_ Nathalie was saying. _“I do not wish him to be worn down. You may return tomorrow.”_

“Please, Madame Sancoeur, he’ll want to see me. At least ask him!”

_“I do not believe—”_

“Please,” Marinette repeated. “If he doesn’t want to see me, I’ll go. I promise.”

Marinette would make the pretence of leaving even if Nathalie refused, Tikki knew. Ladybug would be able to visit when Marinette could not. But if Adrien had told Marinette what Tikki thought he had, Marinette would not wish to transform right now. 

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and then Nathalie’s voice came again: _“Very well.”_ Tikki heard the gates open, and then Marinette was running up to the front door. She received an escort to Adrien’s room and then Nathalie left them alone.

“Adrien?” Marinette knocked softly. Tikki couldn’t hear any response, and a second later, there was a click as Marinette turned the handle to let herself in. “Adrien, it’s me.”

Tikki heard the door close, and then Marinette finally let her out. Tikki zipped up to survey the room, taking in the absence of the Ring of the Black Cat on Adrien’s finger at the same time that she noticed a thick wedge of camembert sitting out on Adrien’s desk.

Untouched camembert.

Of course, not a crumb would remain if Plagg had been at it.

“So you do still have her.”

Tikki turned at Adrien’s words but did not say anything. The boy was looking worse for the wear, though Tikki was not surprised. He faced trying times, worsened by his own deadly touch. She had never envied Plagg’s power. Destruction was no more potent than creation, yet the consequences always seemed more immediate.

Marinette gave her a nervous glance before looking at Adrien. “Plagg’s gone? And your Miraculous?”

“I didn’t take it off,” Adrien insisted before Marinette could suggest otherwise. “I.... Why would I take it off? This…this is what it would be like if you woke up and realized your earrings had been stolen while you’d slept!”

Not stolen. If something terrible had happened to Plagg and his Miraculous, Wayzz would have known and alerted her. And she knew Plagg; he would not have left this Chat Noir, not right now. Not unless….

Tikki was not Wayzz. She did not have the ability to divine the wellbeing of any of her brethren, nor was she skilled at using that knowledge to her advantage. But she knew Plagg. 

While Marinette murmured comforting words to Adrien that Tikki suspected would ring hollow rather than true with the state he was in, she flew about to inspect Adrien’s room. She wasn’t certain what she was looking for, not quite, but she felt confident she’d recognize it when she found it. She started at the computer desk, eyed the games, and then darted for the upper level. Books assaulted her. Books…and a rock climbing wall.

A rock climbing wall which would require a strong supporting structure.

And space.

Tikki steeled herself and then willed herself immaterial as she passed through the climbing wall. She hovered for a moment; she could not see well in the darkness, but she did not rely only upon her eyes to envision the world around her. She breathed in the silence, reached out her senses, and turned to the quivering mass of darkness to her right.

“You can’t hide from the world, Plagg.”

The darkness sobbed, and bright green eyes opened. “I don’t want to do this again, Tikki,” he whispered.

Poor Plagg; he took every cycle hard, no matter how much he insisted he wouldn’t get attached next time. “You took the Ring.” She didn’t need to ask it as a question; she knew it was the truth. The Ring was gone, but Plagg was not. Bound as they were, Plagg would be searching for it if it had been stolen or misplaced. And she’d received no summons from Wayzz. It was not time for Ladybug to vanish. Not entirely. Not yet.

“I didn’t have a choice. He still needs me, Tikki, but now….” 

Plagg’s tears glistened in his eyes. Tikki moved to comfort him as best she could, perching beside Plagg on one of the steel support beams. Kwami could cry, but it was rare. To see Plagg like this spoke of how deeply these events had affected him. Of how deeply he cared for this Chat Noir and of how much he felt his boy’s suffering.

And of how guilty he felt for causing it.

Again.

The circumstances had been different in the past, but some of the outcomes were the same. Plagg blamed himself. He always blamed himself, no matter the truth, no matter that there was little to have been done, if anything. 

Her power was not his. She could not conceive how he felt, seeing how it had been twisted and used for a terrible purpose. They had all lost people in the past, but out of all of them, Nooroo would understand Plagg’s situation best—both past and present. 

But Nooroo was not here, and she doubted he would want to speak with either her or Plagg for a very long time. She wished she could convince herself that that would not be because he blamed himself most. Nooroo was little different from Plagg in that respect.

Plagg was right. He hadn’t had a choice when it had come to taking the Ring, not really. Right now, taking it was better than leaving it. Even if Plagg didn’t want to believe that. Even if he had too much faith in Adrien to acknowledge the possibility. 

“You know better than the rest of us what has happened in the past, Plagg,” Tikki said softly, “and the risk is greater at times like these.”

“He wouldn’t do it,” Plagg insisted. “He told me he hadn’t considered it, and I believe him. I _trust_ him.”

“You know as well as I do how easily human minds can change.”

“But their hearts are steadier. They always have been.”

“Yet you still took back your Ring.”

She was met with silence. Plagg could not deny the truth. He had the Ring of the Black Cat; Adrien did not. 

“Wayzz wanted it removed,” Plagg finally admitted. He shifted, leaning his head against hers. She kept her arm around him, knowing he needed it right now. “After what happened before….” Plagg did not finish, but Tikki knew the rest of that sentence. They could not risk a repeat of _before_. Adrien was torn by his grief. Whatever Plagg thought, Adrien would not be the first Chat Noir to turn the power of destruction against himself if he chose that route. Every time they let it get that far, the act had nearly destroyed Plagg himself.

It was not something they wanted to risk. Certainly not again.

But Plagg had trusted the last Chat Noir, too. It was no wonder Wayzz did not want to trust his judgement now. She sympathized with Plagg, but she understood Wayzz’s wariness. The balance must be maintained. Removing the Ring, if only for a time, was an effective way to ensure that.

It was not painless—not for Plagg, not for Adrien—but she could see why it might be deemed necessary.

“You didn’t return with Wayzz.” Tikki’s observation was not her true statement; she questioned why, although she suspected she knew the answer. It was Plagg, after all. 

It was Plagg, and he only saw his boy in pain. The last thing he wanted to do was to cause Adrien _more_ pain.

“I refused.” 

Tikki started at Plagg’s statement, unintentionally pulling away for a moment, but Plagg continued on before she had a chance to form her surprise into words. “I know I will have to leave Adrien, but I can’t leave him now. He would think I’ve abandoned him. He’s foolish, my boy. He might begin to believe I was _right_ to abandon him, that everyone should. I refused to remove the Ring, but Adrien had finally fallen asleep, and Wayzz managed it.” An understatement, Tikki knew. Plagg would not have simply allowed that when he had such strong misgivings. “I just…retrieved it. Before he could make it back. It’s not time yet for me to go, Tikki. You should understand that. How can he heal if I leave him now?”

Plagg was right about that; he and Adrien were firmly attached to each other, and severing their bond would not be easy on either of them. But she did not know Wayzz’s plan. He may still intend to reach out to her, to recall her as well, though it was uncommon that he would need to do so. Other Ladybugs had often decided it was time to pass the mantle to another. Some had held onto it fiercely, fighting well past the time they should have. Others had fallen in battle, and Wayzz had collected the Miraculous, just as he had when Hawk Moth had fallen to Chat Noir.

He clearly feared Chat Noir may yet fall to Hawk Moth, torn apart by his memories.

“It would be difficult,” Tikki agreed, “but it will always be difficult.”

“So you would happily leave Marinette if you were me?”

“I’m not you, Plagg. Our very natures are different.” She paused. “And I never said you should be happy about this.”

“No,” Plagg agreed gruffly, “but you always think we shouldn’t let our pain show. You think we should focus on the future instead of wallowing in the past, but you forget the present. And you can’t ignore the past when it’s influencing what’s happening now.”

“I’m not ignoring the past. It’s the reason why Wayzz asked you to remove the Ring yourself. He did, didn’t he? Because it should be your choice. But you know why it’s necessary, Plagg. After last time—”

“This _isn’t_ last time. Adrien wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of person. He wouldn’t abandon me. Not after everyone’s abandoned him. And now _I’ve_ abandoned him, too.” Plagg began crying again, mumbling, “I didn’t want to abandon him.”

Tikki let him cry. This was not a time for arguments. It was not a time to try to make Plagg see reason. He could not look at the situation as unbiased as she. He never would, so she wasn’t about to demand that of him. But she could coax him into understanding what he already knew, given a bit of time.

He had taken back his Ring but had not returned it to Adrien. She didn’t know where he had hidden it. It wasn’t here; Plagg might have sought the comforting sameness of the darkness, the anonymity of the shadows, silent and unjudging, but she had not spied a crack large enough through which he would have been able to take the Ring. Wherever he had put it, it was undoubtedly somewhere the boy would never think to look—and given what she’d seen of his room, he’d scoured the place thrice over if not more.

It must have hurt Plagg so much to see that. Coming back from wherever he had been to find his boy in such an agonized state, certain he had made matters worse…. 

“You don’t need to keep hiding,” Tikki murmured. She thought it was true enough, even if Plagg didn’t see it that way. “When you’re ready, you can go back to him. You just don’t take the Ring.”

“He’ll ask. You know he’ll ask. And he’ll think I don’t trust him with it.”

Tikki said nothing, opting to continue stroking Plagg. He had responded well to that in the past. After last time, it had helped keep him grounded. She’d thought earlier that he’d been doing remarkably well, all things considered. When Marinette had dropped in on Adrien, they’d had a chance to visit again, to see how their children were coping with their guilt and their grief, and to share stories. 

But Tikki had never mentioned anything about Adrien giving up the Ring, even temporarily, and Plagg had focused on the progress Adrien had made since their first conversation after everything had changed.

She should have realized Plagg had been avoiding the mere possibility of the subject. She should have noticed how much he was holding himself together, how this last act could have cracked his mask and caused his entire façade to crumble. It was hard for him. She understood that. It would be hard for her to leave Marinette, too, when the time came, and Marinette—however hard she took this—was likely to weather this storm better than Adrien. Plagg felt responsible for his boy.

But he always felt responsible for all of them. 

“If you don’t want to face his questions,” Tikki pointed out, “then perhaps now would be a good time to leave.” She didn’t believe her words, not really, not after what she’d seen of Adrien. But if she was right about Plagg….

“ _Now_?” Plagg burst out, pulling away from her and flying around to face her. “I can’t leave him now! I’m not ready. _He’s_ not ready. He shouldn’t be alone right now. This is the worst possible time to leave!”

It wasn’t quite the worst. Tikki suspected leaving almost immediately after Hawk Moth’s demise would have been the worst. This wasn’t, however, the best time. Even she realized that. Wayzz, in his own way, no doubt thought it was for the best, but he didn’t know Adrien as well as Plagg did or even as well as she did. He likely believed that a temporary separation—providing Adrien still wished to be Chat Noir when this was over—would be sufficient to allow the danger to pass, that bonds could be mended to be stronger than before.

That might be the case.

Or perhaps Wayzz had been active for too long and was forgetting how fleeting human life was from a teenager’s perspective.

“Besides,” Plagg added in a whisper, “I promised I’d stay as long as I could.”

_Could_ , Tikki noted. Not _should_. Another reason for Plagg’s disobedience, even if it was still derived from the desire to stay. “Then why break your promise by exiling yourself?”

Plagg’s breathing was ragged. Tikki wasn’t sure he’d answer her. He would have already realized where her questions were going and what she was trying to do; perhaps he had decided to be stubborn enough not to be led, even if it was to the right conclusion. 

After a moment, Tikki decided to break the silence herself. She flew forward and found Plagg’s paws. “You don’t need to fear his judgement, Plagg. All you want is to be near him right now, and no doubt that’s all he wants, too. You said he shouldn’t be alone right now. Well, maybe you shouldn’t, either.”

A sound tore from Plagg’s throat, something between a laugh and a sob that twisted Tikki’s heart. “You think I should stop wallowing in past pain.”

Tikki smiled, knowing Plagg would see it easily despite the darkness. “I think you shouldn’t forget to look to the future. You spend entirely too much time blaming yourself for what has happened with Adrien and every Chat Noir before him when the circumstances have been beyond your control.” She pulled him forward, closer to the outer face of the rock climbing wall. “Come. There’s no reason to delay your reunion.”

She thought Plagg might resist her, but while he didn’t zip ahead of her, he didn’t fight her, either. She pulled him through, out into the bright of Adrien’s room—seeming even brighter now after the darkness within the walls, at least to her—and they hovered up near the ceiling for a moment to get their bearings. Marinette and Adrien were still far below, Adrien sitting on one of the couch cushions that had been thrown to the floor during the search and leaning against what Tikki vaguely recognized as a foosball game. Marinette settled beside him and handed him a damp washcloth, murmuring something Tikki couldn’t catch. Adrien wiped at his face, but his motions were mechanical.

Plagg was right. His boy felt abandoned and lost, and while Wayzz had tried to ensure the safety of the Ring of the Black Cat, he had not ensured the safety of its latest user. Master Fu wouldn’t intervene unless necessary, but she had no idea how clear his view of the situation truly was. Still, she trusted him. He had been right to call out her and Plagg to rescue Nooroo, and it had been time for Ladybug and Chat Noir to be seen again.

This world’s memories were sometimes more fleeting than the lives of its human inhabitants.

Tikki dived a few feet before stopping to look back at Plagg, who hadn’t moved. She waited, and he eventually floated down to join her. “I don’t want to lie to him,” Plagg explained, mercifully without waiting for her prompt. He might pretend he only cared about when he could next get his paws on some camembert, but Tikki knew him better than that, and she suspected Adrien did, too, after everything they had been through.

“You don’t have to lie to him. You just don’t have to tell him everything.”

Plagg muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “That’s still lying,” but Tikki let it pass. She had already turned away to fly back to the teenagers, however, when Plagg asked, “What did you tell Marinette?”

Tikki stopped her slow descent but didn’t look back at Plagg. “I told her as much as she needed to know. I always do.”

“She hasn’t asked yet, has she?”

Tikki turned back. “No.” She knew exactly what Plagg was asking, and she was surprised that Marinette hadn’t even wondered it aloud. Hawk Moth’s death—Gabriel Agreste’s death—was proving to be a sufficient distraction for what had come before. It was some more good to have come out of this situation, terrible as it was, even if Tikki could never explain that to Marinette. She wasn’t sure how Plagg was dealing with it. “What about Adrien?”

“Almost. I keep distracting him before he gets too close.” Plagg dropped down to float beside her again. “It still feels like I’m betraying his trust.” Plagg seemed to have pulled himself together now; Tikki suspected it was the change in topic as much as everything that had come before. She also suspected he was simply sliding another mask into place, but she let it pass for now. It was best to only fight one battle at a time, and letting Plagg and Adrien lean on each other for support would suffice for now.

She wished she knew where Plagg had hidden his Ring.

“It’s better for them to live in ignorance,” Tikki murmured as she surveyed their young charges again. “You know that. Especially now. If they keep wondering, they might put it together, and if they decide to test that theory….”

Plagg’s tail twitched, drawing her attention back to him. “Adrien can be too curious for his own good, but even he….” Plagg trailed off, and his antennae drooped. “We don’t have to worry about that now. Not when he doesn’t have the Ring.”

_And when he gets it back_ , Tikki thought—for she was sure he would get it back, if he decided he still wished to wield it— _Plagg will deflect his questions and guide his thoughts away from that subject._ Plagg might deny it, but he was as good at that as she. 

The balance between creation and destruction must be maintained; that was why she and Plagg—Ladybug and Chat Noir—were active together. Good luck and bad luck. Beginnings and endings. Life and death.

To try to control both….

Tikki shivered. They’d avoided that, both the danger of someone trying to find that precarious balance and terror of the pure _power_ possessed by one who had achieved it. It had been worth the cost, whatever Marinette’s thoughts. It would always be worth the cost. The alternative was unthinkable. 

“We may not ever have real reason to worry with these two,” Tikki said, even though she knew she would worry anyway. She always did. “Master Fu chose well.”

“He often does.” 

_But not always_. Tikki knew what Plagg was thinking. She couldn’t blame him for it. She hummed in agreement, and they hovered in silence for a moment.

“Do you think he knew?” Plagg asked. “Even suspected?”

“I don’t know,” Tikki admitted. Looking down at Adrien, she couldn’t fault Plagg for wondering. It would have been beneficial, having Chat Noir in a position to attack if it came to that. It was a logical move. But Master Fu’s choices weren’t only based on _logic_. They were based on character, on heart, on need, on—

“He didn’t,” Plagg decided abruptly. “I wouldn’t forgive him if he had. He knows that.”

_But he may still have suspected_. Tikki didn’t say it, though. Plagg didn’t need to hear that. And even if the suspicion had been there, it may have served as a deterrent as easily as an attractant. A promising situation could turn sour easily, particularly when such delicate matters were involved.

The situation was still delicate, and Plagg was trying to be strong for his boy by distracting himself enough to put up a front. She wondered if it was enough to fool Adrien. Marinette wouldn’t notice, but Adrien…. Adrien would know Plagg well by now, if not as well as Tikki herself did.

Tikki turned to Plagg again. “Are you re—?” The question died on her tongue; from the determined set of Plagg’s expression, she knew the answer.

A heartbeat later, Plagg was flying toward his boy, shouting his name. Tikki followed more meekly in his wake, hovering beside Marinette’s shoulder while Adrien tearfully embraced Plagg. The questions she had expected and Plagg had feared didn’t come.

“I’m so happy you’re safe,” Adrien murmured as he squeezed Plagg to his heart. “I was so worried about you.”

Marinette ushered Tikki away and they took solace in the washroom, both to avoid overhearing the reunion and for Marinette to ask questions of her own. “You found him?” Marinette asked as she shifted from foot to foot by the sink, trying not to look back at Adrien and Plagg. Her eyes betrayed her; they kept flitting away from Tikki. “Where was he? Where’s Adrien’s ring?”

_The Ring is Plagg’s, not Adrien’s_. But the correction didn’t matter, so Tikki let it pass. “This is hard on Plagg, too,” she said instead. She didn’t know where the Ring was hidden; she wouldn’t tell Marinette if she did. Not unless she had to. And while she should find out, to return it to the Guardian for safekeeping…. She wasn’t going to press Plagg. Not now. He knew the dangers more keenly than anyone, and she trusted him.

“He was mourning.” 

It was a guess, not entirely correct, but a suitable assumption for now. Especially since she was still damp with Plagg’s tears. “Everything has changed. We feel that as much as you do.” Even with all they had seen, not everything was repetition, a similar scene to before. Even with all they had seen, they could still be surprised.

She and Plagg might have been able to stop this earlier otherwise, made sure it didn’t get this far.

Somehow.

“And you? Are you doing okay?”

She couldn’t afford _not_ to be okay, not when Marinette and Plagg were both depending on her to be a rock. “I’m doing as well as I can be, Marinette. As well as any of us can be.” She did not feel the guilt as the others did, not really. They hadn’t known, hadn’t had a choice, and likely couldn’t have changed things even if they had.

Even if it meant one death, this outcome was better. She still believed that. Marinette had not changed her mind on the subject. Marinette did not know, and Tikki sincerely hoped it remained that way. 

But seeing everyone else in so much pain wasn’t easy. They could hide it, but it would come out. She’d seen it before and felt it herself. Even if the pain was not there immediately, once the shock wore off and the truth sunk in, whether it was days or weeks or months later….

“Are you sure, Tikki?”

Marinette looked so worried, so desperate, that Tikki flew forward to touch her cheek to try to reassure her. “I’m sure, Marinette.”

Marinette cupped Tikki in her hands, pulling her away to study her for a moment. Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look sure.” Tikki opened her mouth to protest, but Marinette continued, “You don’t know exactly what happened, do you? Or what’s coming next? And you’re worried?”

“I always worry,” Tikki admitted softly, “but I trust all of you, and I know this won’t break you.”

Marinette swallowed, dropping her hands in favour of crossing them. Tikki remained hovering in place, waiting. Sure enough, with another glance over her shoulder, Marinette whispered, “But this has broken us, Tikki. We aren’t the same as we were before.”

“Changing isn’t the same as breaking,” Tikki countered. But from the distant look on Marinette’s too-pale face, she was remembering recent horrors. Reliving them, as she had too often lately. Sooner rather than later, her parents would ask after her nightmares directly instead of simply giving Marinette multiple openings that were invariably ignored. “And even if a piece of you _is_ broken, it can still be set and you can heal and become stronger than you were before. Your strength might not take the same form as Adrien’s, but I believe in you, Marinette. I believe in both of you. You _will_ see this through.”

Marinette had forgotten by now that she’d intended to give Adrien and Plagg privacy and was instead staring openly at them, though Tikki wasn’t sure how much she saw. Her voice was almost too faint to carry the short distance to Tikki, but she said, “But the hole…. I can feel it, Tikki, and I’m not even the one who’s lost….” Her voice gave out, the words unable to make it past the lump in her throat if the tears in her eyes were anything to go by.

“The pain of loss is the price of love.” If Tikki had learned anything, it was surely that. “Excruciating it may be, but better than never having loved at all.” She flew to Marinette’s shoulder and settled down, nestling against her neck. “And love can help ease that pain, whether shared by others or springing from happy memories. You can’t wallow in the past, Marinette. You can’t let it hold you; you need to look to the future. But that doesn’t mean you must forget the past entirely to keep living.”

Another convulsive swallow, though Tikki doubted it did Marinette much good. “But…Adrien? Plagg?”

“They’ll lean on each other for support, and they’ll lean on us, too, and whoever else they choose, just as we’ll lean on them.” She almost said _just as you’ll lean on them_ , but she realized that wasn’t true. She was trying to pretend otherwise, but she was trying to distract herself just as Plagg was. 

It wasn’t guilt. Not like that felt by the others, at least. It wasn’t entirely regret, either, not when she wouldn’t dare change things if given the chance. But she did regret how the outcome affected the others. She regretted that Hawk Moth had been Chat Noir’s father, that the horrible revelation hadn’t come until it was too late. She regretted that Marinette and Adrien were trying to take this upon themselves. She regretted the necessity—seeming necessity—of removing the Ring. She regretted the need for secrecy.

But she’d rather regret in silence than say too much. She’d learned from past mistakes. Saying too much had always ended in more trouble than saying too little. 

Ignoring the problem wouldn’t make it go away, but it might let it remain hidden for a little while longer. Until they had time for healing to really begin. Until they could weather being broken anew. Because it always seemed to come with a breaking, that knowledge. And she and Plagg hadn’t escaped being broken by that truth yet, either.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Tikki,” Marinette whispered. “I know how Adrien feels about Plagg. I wouldn’t want to go through this without you.”

Tikki stilled, waiting for the request Adrien had made of Plagg, but mercifully it didn’t come. Marinette didn’t ask that she stay _forever_ , or as long as forever could be. Tikki relaxed slightly. She didn’t like lying to her Ladybug any more than Plagg did to his Chat Noir. Being a necessity didn’t make it pleasant.

“I’m glad I’m with you now, too, Marinette,” Tikki said with perfect truth. Then, more to herself than to Marinette, she added softly, “I like being reminded of how you see the world.” She forgot, sometimes, what it could be like. Plagg had a better memory than she for that sort of thing. She wasn’t sure which was more of a curse. “Come,” she said to Marinette as she flew from her shoulder, “we should go back. Being together right now is important.”

Marinette smiled weakly and moved forward in agreement, and Tikki flew on ahead. She knew these were still dangerous waters, that Marinette and Adrien were more fragile than they let on, but Plagg was right. Those two _needed_ them, for as long as they could stay, and Tikki didn’t want to waste a moment of it. As terrible as Marinette thought the situation, Tikki knew it could be much worse than she’d ever told her and that they weren’t safe from the situation spinning out of their control, and she’d rather they enjoyed what they could for as long as possible.


	6. Part VI: Nino

Nino sat on one of the park benches, listening to his tunes and working on putting together a playlist. He wanted to give something to Adrien. The guy wanted space. Nino could respect that. He had no idea what Adrien was going through, and Adrien didn’t seem to want to talk about it—which Nino totally understood, since he was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to talk about it either in Adrien’s situation, which is why he didn’t push his friend. But Nino enjoyed being able to lose himself in his music, and he kinda suspected Adrien wouldn’t mind trying to lose himself for a few minutes, too.

He also had no idea what else he could do for Adrien. He wasn’t like Marinette, who had been baking since she could stand. He wasn’t Alya, who was good with words and could come up with something appropriate to say. Him? He was just tongue-tied. What did you say to your best friend when he lost a father like that? When his mother was already out of the picture?

Nino couldn’t imagine what Adrien was feeling right now, and any sentiment he had to offer was going to sound like it came off some sappy sympathy card. It would ring hollow. Even trying to offer it was awkward.

Nino didn’t want to be a fair weather friend, but he wasn’t sure how to help Adrien endure this storm.

Maybe he could try getting some advice from Alya? She didn’t get what Adrien was going through, either, but she was better at figuring out how to approach situations like this than he was. Of course, she was probably busy dealing with Marinette. The girl was taking this _hard_. Harder than he would’ve guessed, really, even considering she could be a fairly empathetic person. 

Actually, Marinette kinda made him feel bad for not feeling worse about this. But Nino felt bad for Adrien. Because Adrien lost his dad, and because that meant…. Nino didn’t even know what that meant. But he hadn’t exactly been a fan of Gabriel Agreste—what kind of father flat out forbade _birthday parties_?—so he was more saddened because of how his death influenced Adrien rather than the fact that he was gone in general.

That truth did not make this easier on Nino. It just made him feel like a horrible friend because he didn’t feel worse than he did. Not for the right reasons, anyway.

The fact that Alya had phoned him yesterday to say Marinette had ditched her for Adrien didn’t help matters, as Adrien had yet to return the text Nino had sent him two days ago.

He just didn’t know what to do or what to say or how to say it or when to say it or anything like that, and the only advice he’d gotten from his parents was to respect Adrien’s wishes, to let Adrien know that he was there for him when he wanted him, and he’d done that, but it didn’t seem like enough. Nothing seemed like enough. How could it, after everything Adrien had lost?

Nino abruptly realized he’d been staring at his iPhone screen blankly for the last ten minutes (it had long since gone dark) and hadn’t heard a note of the songs playing through his headphones.

He sighed, took them off, and stared upward at the cloud-dotted sky, wishing it would provide him with answers but knowing he was on his own.

Just…what could he do? What could _anyone_ do? 

And how bad was it that he’d first heard the news not from Adrien but _Alya_ , who’d overheard Sabrina saying something to Chloé?

Maybe Adrien did need him to back off. It just…felt weird. Because Adrien’s driver probably saw him more often than Nino did these days, even if Adrien didn’t leave the house, and Marinette—who had made marked improvements in talking to Adrien since the first day of class, but nothing that would have made him think it would take something like this for them to be comfortable around each other—was _definitely_ seeing him more often than Nino did. 

He wasn’t sure where he fit.

He was feeling helpless and alone, which was stupid, because it’s not like Adrien was his first ever friend, he was just the best friend Nino had had in a long time, and—

“Hey.”

—and now he must be losing his mind, because that had sounded distinctly like Chloé. Nino raised his head and blinked in surprise. It _was_ Chloé. She was scowling at him, probably because he was staring at her, but she looked…tired. And worried. Her makeup was even smudged—there was a minute bit of mascara in the corner of her left eye, though he wasn’t really sure why his mind had decided to notice that little detail—and that was really saying something considering this was Chloé and he had not heard of a villain attacking Paris recently.

Sabrina was conspicuously absent.

“Uh, hey.” What the heck could _Chloé_ want with him? She’d looked at him like he wasn’t worthy to be the scum on the bottom of her shoe even _before_ the Bubbler incident.

“You’re Adrien’s friend.” Did she have to look so pained as she said that? “You should talk to him.”

Nino was giving her a funny look before he remembered this was Chloé, who doubtlessly knew even more ways to make his life miserable than she’d already demonstrated. “Yeah, I do talk to him.”

“I mean seriously talk to him,” she snapped. “About…about what happened.” Her weight shifted from her right foot to her left. She was fidgeting. Was she _nervous_? Not about talking to him, that was for sure, but still. Chloé had confidence to the point of arrogance. Beyond that. This was definitely weird.

“Uh, right.” Nino tried to figure out what was the appropriate response and drew a complete blank. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m Adrien’s friend, too,” she hissed, her usual venom returning, “and he needs his friends right now. And for some reason beyond my understanding, you count as one of them.”

Yeah, that was Chloé, right back into it with the compliments. “Fine,” Nino said, because he had no idea what else to say, “but why bother coming to tell me this when it’s obvious I’m talking to Adrien anyway?”

“Because you’re not.” She was looking at him like he was an idiot right now, which Nino felt might actually be justified for once. “I saw him last night, and he’s a mess.”

If Chloé had visited Adrien last night, that was enough reason in Nino’s book for him to be a mess and potentially want to call in Marinette to do damage control, but the fact that Adrien had chosen Marinette over him still hurt. But he wasn’t going to say any of that to Chloé’s face. “Still doesn’t mean I’m not talking to him. I mean, you’d be a mess too if your dad died, right?”

The words were out of Nino’s mouth before he remembered, and Chloé looked like she might just murder him on the spot.

Yeah.

He _really_ wasn’t as good as he’d like to be when it came to not putting his foot in his mouth.

Nino wondered briefly if he should just make a break for it—he was confident he could outrun Chloé, even when she was furious at him—but eventually Chloé’s face returned to a more natural shade and her fists uncurled, even if she was still looking at him like she wanted to wring his neck.

“He thinks this is his fault,” she ground out through clenched teeth. Nino realized she really must consider Adrien a friend if she was sticking around to tell him this without prefacing it with a bunch of (admittedly now deserved) insults. “He thinks he killed his father.”

Nino frowned. “Wait, what?”

“He thinks he killed his father,” Chloé repeated. 

This time, Nino didn’t regret the dubious look he gave her. “Right. What makes you say that?”

“Because he told me so.”

Huh. Adrien’s dad had died of a heart attack. “Maybe you heard him wrong.”

Chloé crossed her arms and gave him that look again, the one that made him feel like a bug under a dissection scope. “I didn’t _hear him wrong_. He says it was an accident, but he’s convinced himself that he somehow stopped his father’s heart.”

 _How, with electricity?_ There couldn’t be that many ways to actually stop someone’s heart. But from what Chloé was saying…. “Well, did you hear of some electricity-sucking villain? One who can absorb it and shoot out lightning bolts or something?”

Chloé started, her eyes widening as her grip loosened and her arms fell back to her sides. “What?”

“Well, think about it. If Adrien’s beating himself up over this, something must have planted the idea that he’s responsible in his head. What if…what if he was, y’know, a villain?” Nino didn’t say _like we were_ , because he knew Chloé wouldn’t appreciate being reminded of Antibug any more than he did of Bubbler. “I mean, if he came back to himself at his place, and his father was, well….” Nino didn’t bother trying to finish that sentence, instead giving a half-hearted shrug. 

He had always been grateful that he didn’t remember being the Bubbler. He was pretty sure the others felt the same way. Well, maybe not Alya, because she was Alya and she viewed her memory loss as a loss of valuable information, but there was probably some small part of her that was grateful she didn’t remember being the cold-hearted Lady WiFi. So if Adrien had been turned into someone else, and things had happened, and now he just knew the results but not how things had gone down?

There had been no record of another villain on the Ladyblog, but Alya was capable of missing things. Sometimes. On very rare occasions.

And if she had heard of something, she might not have blogged about it in light of what had happened.

Chloé visibly swallowed, but she wasn’t quite able to wipe the look of horror off her face. She had clearly not considered this possibility—which was strange, because it seemed pretty obvious to Nino, and for all that Chloé was mean and petty, she wasn’t stupid. “No,” she said. Her voice cracked, and she said it again: “ _No_.” The word had more force behind it this time, but Nino wasn’t sure he was the one she was trying to convince.

“Look, I’m not a fan of the idea any more than you obviously are, but it makes sense. Do you seriously think Adrien had a healthy relationship with his father?”

“They…they weren’t always like that,” Chloé managed. She still looked ill. When she moved to sit beside him on the park bench, Nino thought she really might be. He scooted as far away from her as he could, just in case. She didn’t seem to notice.

“They wouldn’t have had to be,” Nino pointed out when Chloé didn’t say anything more. “I think it just takes one horrible thought, one broken, angry, betrayed feeling.” That was Alya’s running theory, anyway, though clearly not every thought was fair game or there would be a lot more villains running around on a regular basis. “Antibug had it in for Ladybug, remember, and Bubbler for all adults—and kids who weren’t having fun. I mean, yeah, sometimes parents can be a drag, but I definitely don’t want every adult gone.”

“I know,” Chloé acknowledged quietly, and before Nino could come to terms with the fact that she was actually agreeing with him, she continued, “but Adrien’s not like that.”

“Pretty sure you’re not someone who wants to kill Ladybug, either.”

Chloé’s glare made Nino flinch. “Pretty sure,” she said, slowly and deliberately, “that based on our own experiences, it wouldn’t come to that. Not with Adrien.”

“Yeah, but my point is that if you end up as Paris’s latest villain, you aren’t thinking straight—which would include Adrien.”

“He’s already lost his mother.” Chloé’s icy tone was showing no sign of thawing. “Adrien loves his father. He’ll do anything to try to gain Monsieur Agreste’s approval. If he doesn’t get it, he’ll blame himself. _Not_ his father.” Nino figured she didn’t realize that she wasn’t speaking in past tense but he thought she might explode at him if he pointed that out. 

Of course, Chloé _had_ been Adrien’s only friend before coming to school. She would’ve known Adrien’s dad relatively well. Certainly better than Nino did, anyway. And in all likelihood she did have a better insight into their relationship than Nino did. Adrien never had talked much about his dad or anyone else in the family, happy to let Nino complain good-naturedly about his own parents, but Nino knew how much Adrien respected his father.

And what Chloé was saying did sound a lot like Adrien. For someone who was a teenage model, the boy definitely lacked confidence in himself. Nino had noticed that much. It wasn’t all the time, but every once in a while, it came out, and it practically blindsided Nino every time. Though, come to think of it, that usually was when Adrien’s father was involved. 

Nino swallowed and didn’t say anything.

Looking a trace satisfied at having made her point, Chloé sat back, her frigid expression finally melting as she lifted her chin. “If Adrien were to become a villain, he might do a lot of things, but harming his father is not one of them. _Protecting_ him, maybe, and doing more harm than good when trying to do that, but nothing like this. And…and it can’t be that anyway. Ladybug fixes things after every fight, and this wasn’t fixed.”

“Well….” Nino knew he had to be the one to say it, since Chloé certainly wasn’t going to. “Maybe she can’t. Fix that, I mean. Maybe it’s not something that can be fixed.” 

“Ladybug can fix anything,” Chloé argued. “And she does, every time there’s an attack. She would’ve been able to fix this!”

“Yeah, but a life isn’t something like the Eiffel Tower, and it’s not something new. What if, once someone actually dies, not just gets shoved into a different dimension, she can’t do anything anymore? To reverse the damage? Because it’s beyond her powers?”

“She’s Ladybug. It’s not beyond her powers.”

Nino decided he didn’t want to argue. He didn’t want to be right, anyway. “So what do you think Adrien meant, then, if he wasn’t a villain?”

“Would I be talking to you if I knew that?” Chloé retorted. Then, with slightly less venom, “I don’t know. He said that, and then he said he needed to show me, but he wasn’t talking to me by then.”

Nino felt his eyebrows shoot up. “What, he was talking to himself?”

“Maybe?” It was decidedly bizarre to see that uncertainty on Chloé’s face. “He mentioned someone named Plagg. He said Plagg had promised he wouldn’t leave, but he’d broken that promise.”

Nino heard the question in her voice, the hope that he knew what Adrien had been talking about. Except he didn’t. At all. And if this Plagg had been some obscure societal reference that had gone over his head, it wouldn’t have gone over Chloé’s. 

“You don’t know, either.” There was no trace of a question in her voice this time. Chloé pursed her lips. “See if you can get him to talk about it, then. Don’t bring it up, though. You need to let him bring it up.”

“How am I supposed to do that when I’m not even sure how to get him to talk to me in the first place?” 

Chloé didn’t seem fazed by the outburst. “Well, when was the last time you talked to him?”

“I texted him two days ago,” Nino said defensively. 

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did he answer? Engage in a conversation?”

Nino shook his head. “Last time we had a real conversation, he asked me to give him some space to, I guess, process stuff. I mean, he was really polite about it, and I don’t want to push it, y’know? So I just text him every once in a while to let him know I’m here for him if he needs me.”

“It’s been two weeks.” Since Adrien’s father had died, Chloé meant; the funeral had just been last week, the public memorial service the day before and the open house thing Nathalie had arranged a few days before that. “Adrien won’t remember much of them, but if you go visit him, maybe you can help ground him. Give him some warning and then go. He needs you, even if he won’t admit it.” 

Nino swallowed. “It’s that bad?”

“He told me what he did for a reason. I didn’t understand it, and he stopped talking to me, so maybe you can pry him out of his shell.” The worry on Chloé’s face still looked out of place; he was much more used to a sneer—or at least haughty arrogance. “He’s worse than I’ve ever seen him. Even after his mother….” She trailed off and shook her head. “Talk to him,” she ordered, getting to her feet. “And…and let me know what you find out.”

She spun on her heel and walked away before Nino could think of anything to say. In all the years he’d known her, this might have very well been the first time he’d ever had a civil conversation with Chloé. True, they didn’t usually talk, but when they did, chances were good that she made a snide comment or he a sarcastic one, and if the conversation didn’t end there, it typically went downhill fast.

She must really be worried about Adrien to have come to him.

Nino checked his watch. At this time on a normal Sunday afternoon, Adrien might have been scheduled for a photoshoot. But things weren’t normal, and Nino didn’t know when—if ever—they would be again. Not for his friend.

He phoned Adrien anyway. No answer. Nino sent a text message, letting Adrien know he was planning to drop by, and couldn’t quite believe that he was following _Chloé’s_ advice. But if Adrien really _was_ convinced he’d accidentally committed patricide, then….then…something. Nino didn’t know what would have to come next. Maybe convincing him he hadn’t. Or trying to figure out why he thought that. How did you end up blaming yourself for someone’s death by natural causes, anyway? 

Nino went home first, telling himself it was to give Adrien time to respond even though it was really to put off going in the first place. He stood in the doorway of his room, staring around and thinking he should bring something to Adrien, if only to give him something to talk about. A list of songs seemed like a stupid idea now. Nino had no idea what he’d been thinking.

Flowers were out, because that wasn’t Nino’s style, and anyway, Adrien had already gotten some from the Lahiffe family. Tea? Did his family have any unopened packages of tea downstairs? Not likely. He knew food was supposed to be a good gift, but that was to save people the trouble of cooking, wasn’t it? That didn’t exactly apply in this case, and even if it did, the entire household could still be eating the casseroles that had been dropped off in those first few days.

Maybe he should stop by Marinette’s family’s bakery on his way over. That had to be easier than finding something here. It was less personal, but it was safe. If Adrien didn’t want Nino to stay long, let alone come to visit in the first place, it had to be better to drop off a box of cookies than to take over a video game they’d played a hundred times before.

Well, maybe he’d take the video game, just in case. He didn’t have to tell Adrien about it if Nino got the feeling he was unwanted.

It didn’t take long to find the right game to bring; Nino didn’t have many, not like Adrien himself probably did and certainly not as many as someone like Max who was practically a video game connoisseur. He pocketed it and turned to his desk to dig out some extra cash from the top drawer. Just as he closed it, he saw the note.

It was lying on top of the mess of papers on his desk—half-finished schoolwork he’d have to look at later tonight, if he could bring himself to focus. The note was short but very distinctive. Though written on the outside of a standard letter envelope (if the shaky scrawl could be defined as writing; it was so messy Nino thought it might take him half an hour to decipher it), it looked as if it had been shoved in the bottom of his backpack for the last month. Except it hadn’t been, because he’d never seen it before. He didn’t even recognize the handwriting. It looked like a five year old had done it.

Nino picked up and squinted at the note, trying to pick out enough individual letters from the ink smear to figure out what they spelled.

_Please keep safe. Secret._

The envelope was sealed, but he could feel a small weight wedged in the bottom. His name was nowhere to be found, but— “Mom? Dad?” he called, knowing at least one of them was home since the front door had been unlocked. “Did anyone drop something off for me?”

His mother called back almost immediately. “No, honey. Are you expecting something?”

Nino glanced at the envelope in his hand. “Not really,” he hedged. “I’ll just go grab it instead. I’ll be back later.”

“Let me know if you won’t be here for supper.”

“Okay.” Nino’s response was quieter than it should have been, but he was staring at the note now. Secret. Its contents were secret, as in he shouldn’t look? He should keep them a secret after he did look? He wasn’t even sure he was the intended recipient of this thing, whatever it was, let alone who he was supposed to keep it safe for.

And it was kind of unnerving that it had just shown up sometime between now and yesterday morning when he’d thrown the homework onto his desk.

Nino shoved the envelope into his pocket. He could figure out this whole thing later. Right now, he was worried about Adrien. Armed with the video game and extra cash, Nino left to deal with the more immediate problem.

Twenty minutes later, he was standing outside the Agreste residence with a dozen cookies and pleading his case to Nathalie Sancoeur, who clearly remembered just how much Gabriel Agreste had liked him.

Nino was pretty sure the cookies were the only reason he was allowed through the gates, even though it was clear from Nathalie’s expression that she did not appreciate his choice of gift for Adrien.

It was just as well he had not mentioned the video game.

Nino was escorted to Adrien’s room as if Nathalie thought he might wander off or try to steal something, although for all he knew, that was normal protocol at the Agreste house. Nathalie must have informed Adrien of his arrival because Adrien’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, and after a courtesy knock, Adrien invited him in and Nino was able to escape Nathalie’s watchful gaze.

“Dude, is it just me, or has she gotten worse?”

Nino regretted the question the moment it had left his mouth, but Adrien gave him a small smile. Nino couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. Not anymore. “Maybe a little more overprotective,” he allowed. “Sorry for not getting back to you earlier, Nino. I’ve been….” He trailed off and shrugged apologetically.

“Distracted,” Nino supplied. “It’s cool, bro. That’s totally fine.” Not knowing what else to say, he defaulted to his peace offering. “I brought cookies.”

 _That_ smile was genuine. “Thanks, Nino.” Adrien took the cookies and led Nino around to the couch, where he put the box down between them. He picked out a chocolate chip one for himself, motioned for Nino to have his choice as well, and after one bite said, “They’re delicious.”

“Anything Marinette’s dad bakes is,” Nino said without thinking.

Adrien swallowed before agreeing with a quiet, “Yeah.”

Nino cast his eyes around the room, which looked as large and immaculate as the rest of the house. Somehow, after what Chloé had said, he’d figured he’d be walking into a disaster area, but he couldn’t even see dust on the shelves. Maybe she was wrong after all. Maybe Adrien didn’t think something entirely crazy and was just going through the normal grieving process, whatever that entailed. (Nino had looked it up and concluded that it would make more sense to him if he’d ever gone through it himself.) 

Adrien looked tired and otherwise a bit less like the magazine spreads than usual, but if he was convinced he’d murdered his father, he hid it well. 

“So…um…how’s it going?” He wasn’t supposed to ask that, was he? But what did you _say_? He’d never learned how to deal with something like this. And he’d _definitely_ never learned how to gently guide his friend into bringing up a topic like accidental murder.

“As well as it can be, I guess.” Adrien took another slow, careful bite of his cookie. After swallowing, he asked, “What about you?”

“Good,” Nino responded automatically. “I guess. Considering, y’know, everything.” If he was going to put his foot in his mouth, maybe he should just keep going anyway. “Look, I don’t want to push you or anything, but I was serious when I said that if you want to talk, you can talk to me. I know I won’t understand, but I can listen. You know that, right? I want to be here for you, bro. I don’t want to be a terrible friend, so if you just want me to go away, just say so, and I will. No hard feelings. Promise.”

“You’re a great friend, Nino,” Adrien insisted. “Don’t think you aren’t. You’re one of the first friends I ever made, and you showed me what real friendship is.”

“Well, I brought cookies,” Nino said. “Of course that means I top the list.”

To his relief, Adrien smiled at the joke. “I’m glad you came. I think I needed to see you and didn’t even realize it.”

Nino waited, hoping this was the opening to the conversation Chloé had demanded he have, and Adrien’s smile eventually fell away.

Nino still said nothing, but only because he had no idea what to say. He ate another cookie instead, using a full mouth as an excuse for his silence, and consequently tried to eat as slowly as possible. Maybe he should leave before things just became more awkward?

“You know, Chloé came to see me yesterday,” Adrien said, staring at the half-eaten cookie in his hands. “She’s my friend, in her own way, and she took it upon herself to talk some sense into me. I…. I broke down in front of her. It had been a hard day, I guess. I don’t know. They all still seem hard. But that just seems like an excuse.” He looked up at Nino. “She said that I’ve been ignoring my friends, and I know that’s true, because I’m not as busy as I was, but she also said…. She said it’s okay to let things slowly go back to normal.”

Nino wasn’t sure if he was supposed to agree with that or not. “Yeah?” He tried to make it sound noncommittal.

“I just…haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to do that. I can’t just pretend nothing’s changed, that nothing happened.”

“I don’t think she would’ve meant that you should pretend your dad’s alive,” Nino said carefully.

“I know. She meant that I need to keep living my life instead of hiding away, but I just….” Adrien shook his head and turned his attention to picking up cookie crumbs from the sofa; he’d managed to crumble the rest of his first cookie. “I don’t think I know how. Too much has changed.” Something that might have been a laugh escaped Adrien, and he added, “Nathalie’s my legal guardian until I’m eighteen. With my parents gone, my grandparents dead, no aunts and uncles, and no cousins to speak of, I don’t have anyone else. And Father knew that. He arranged for this, and she agreed to it. I don’t even know when this happened.”

Nino frowned. “But…it’s normal for parents to take precautions like that. Why are you saying that like it isn’t?” At least that explained Nathalie’s earlier glare. She _was_ being more overprotective than usual and probably thought it was one of M. Agreste’s last wishes that his son not be negatively influenced by Nino’s company in any way. 

It was a good thing Adrien would defy his father where it really counted, like school and friendships, even if he wouldn’t go so far as to fight for a birthday party.

“Father takes safety very seriously. He never takes unnecessary risks, and he—” Adrien broke off, his fingers slipping and sending cookie crumbs flying everywhere. “He never took unnecessary risks, I mean. His would have planned to be here for me. My strict diet isn’t just for my modelling career.”

“Yeah, but….” Nino shrugged. “Precautions, like I said. I’d go live with my aunt and uncle if something happened. And it’s not like you can plan for something like a heart attack. Sometimes your genetics are just against you.”

“Heart disease doesn’t run in the family,” Adrien murmured.

“So? It’s not always genetics. Or lifestyle. Sometimes things just _happen_. That’s how life works, even if it sucks. That’s why it’s not fair.”

For some reason, Adrien was staring at his right hand. Nino wasn’t sure if that was an improvement over obsessively picking up minuscule crumbs or not. _Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance_ —was Adrien at the _depression_ stage or still back in _denial_? Sure, he didn’t seem to be denying his father’s death, but Chloé was right; something was still off, and Nino could see that even without knowing what his friend was going through. 

Maybe he really did think he’d somehow killed his dad. Did that count as denial? It wouldn’t be anger unless it was entirely self-directed. So maybe it was depression and just a different kind of depression. There were probably different types of depression. Maybe. Or maybe the stages of grief didn’t always go in order or sometimes repeated themselves or otherwise got intermixed.

Nino had not researched this enough.

He wasn’t sure more research really would’ve helped, though.

“Look, dude, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to your dad. Sometimes people die unexpectedly. There’s nothing you could’ve done.” From the sudden blank look on Adrien’s face, that hadn’t been the right thing to say. “It’s okay to feel sad. Or to feel numb. That’s totally normal.” At least, it was as far as he could tell based on what his parents and the internet had said.

“Thanks, Nino,” Adrien whispered. 

Nino waited a moment, sure this was the perfect opportunity for Adrien to tell him about the crazy convictions Chloé had reported, but all Adrien did was reach for a trash can (half full of tissues) and brush off his crumb-covered hands.

Maybe something Chloé had said yesterday had sunk in and Adrien didn’t actually believe that anymore. Which was good. Nino doubted it would be very good for his friend’s mental health to be convinced he’d accidentally murdered his father.

Or maybe Adrien just didn’t feel like talking.

“Hey,” Nino said eventually, “if you’re up for it, I brought along a video game. Might help take your mind off things for a while.”

Adrien didn’t quite smile, but it was a near thing, and that was good enough for Nino. He handed the game over, Adrien set it up, and they spent an enjoyable few hours being teenagers and ignoring the world around them. Nino didn’t even complain too loudly when Nathalie came around to not-so-subtly suggest that it was time he go home; he had a sneaking suspicion Adrien might really be tired anyway.

Truthfully, Nino didn’t remember the envelope or the note until later that night. When he did, he read the note again—which did nothing to improve his understanding of it—and then opened the envelope. He could keep a secret, but if someone really wanted to entrust something to him, chances were good they wouldn’t do it this way.

The envelope held a ring.

It was a man’s ring, or at least it was considerably broader than most made for women. The large, flat face was circular and raised slightly from the band, held in place by stylized clasps at four corners that were reminiscent of claws. The ring itself was silver in colour and very, very familiar.

It was Adrien’s. It _had_ to be; he couldn’t remember seeing Adrien wearing it earlier, and he had it on practically all the time. But that handwriting definitely wasn’t Adrien’s, not by any stretch of the imagination. He could have made it more legible if he’d written it with his left hand. Maybe even with his foot.

Actually, that’s kinda what it looked like: like someone had tried to write the note with their foot. 

Nino wasn’t Alya, who might be tempted to try for the sake of getting to the truth. Besides, he was pretty sure Adrien would never do something like that anyway. Still, Adrien had not mentioned the missing ring—though, maybe that’s why his room had looked so clean, if he’d looked everywhere for it? Sure, Chloé hadn’t said Adrien’s room would be messy, per se, but how often does a normal teenager _dust_ his room? Nino couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Maybe once, five years ago. Or ten.

Adrien was allergic to feathers, not dust.

But then again, Nino had to admit that Adrien wasn’t exactly a _normal_ teenager. 

Of course, he wasn’t sure any of them were, even him.

But still. None of that explained the note. Or the ring—even if it _wasn’t_ Adrien’s. Nino kinda hoped it wasn’t since that would be easier—who the heck would’ve stolen his best friend’s ring and given it to him? Why?—but if it was, what was he supposed to do? Give it back to Adrien and pretend he’d just found it? He _had_ technically just found it. Only, he’d found it on his desk, in an envelope, where Adrien most definitely would not have lost it.

_Please keep safe. Secret._

The note made more sense now. Keep the ring safe. Keep it a secret. From his best friend. 

From his best friend, who was currently trying to come to terms with the fact that his dad had died. With the fact that his life has changed and he hasn’t even had a chance to see all the repercussions yet. Who may or may not be secretly convinced his father’s death was his fault in the first place, who was suddenly missing the ring he wore _all the time_ , and who may or may not have an imaginary friend name Plagg who might very well be the product of stress. (Nino didn’t know much about that kind of thing, either, but if he didn’t know the name and Chloé didn’t know the name, the only other person to really ask would be Nathalie to cover off all of Adrien’s social circles, and Nino wasn’t about to ask her. Or Adrien himself.)

But Adrien hadn’t mentioned the lost ring, not even in passing. So if it wasn’t lost and, for some obscure reason completely unknown to Nino, Adrien actually wanted him to hold onto it for a while, why not just give it to him? Getting someone else to give it to him was weird.

And having it just appear in his room overnight was a little unnerving.

Adrien couldn’t know, or he’d have explained. But he hadn’t asked if Nino had seen it at school or anywhere else, so maybe he wasn’t looking for it. Maybe it wasn’t his after all, and his was just in a box somewhere. Or maybe he just didn’t even realize it was gone, if he had just taken it off and put it somewhere before someone else had swiped it. He’d definitely notice if the thing was stolen right off his hand. So, if he wasn’t panicked, maybe things were okay after all?

Nino sat down on his bed, staring at Adrien’s ring in one hand and the note in the other.

_Please keep safe. Secret._

Why say that if the ring wasn’t Adrien’s?

Why give it to Nino if it was?

The note offered no answers, no matter how hard he studied it, and the ring stubbornly refused to look like any ring besides the one belonging to his best friend. Nino didn’t know why he had it. He wished he could just dismiss the note as a joke, that he could dismiss this entire thing as a joke, but something…something told him it wasn’t.

The note’s plea to keep the ring safe and its command to keep the ring a secret held a weight they shouldn’t, one Nino couldn’t explain away any more easily than he could its miraculous appearance in the first place. But if he obeyed the instructions in the note and kept the ring a secret, was he betraying his best friend?

_Please keep safe. Secret._

Nino didn’t know what to do. If he at least knew it was Adrien’s ring, or who had given it to him and written the note, then maybe….

Nino frowned and brought the note closer to his face. What he’d taken for a smudged ink blot looked a bit like a tiny paw print. It probably wasn’t; it probably _was_ just a smudged ink blot, but now that he’d noticed it, he couldn’t see it as anything _but_ a paw print. Placed like a signature.

“I’m overthinking this,” Nino muttered. He put the ring back into the envelope and tucked it at the back of the top drawer in his desk, where it would blend in with everything else were anyone else looking there but where he’d notice if it ever disappeared.

He’d tell Adrien all about this later, sometime when Adrien felt he could laugh freely at Nino’s expense, but for now…. For now, he’d keep the ring safely hidden away, even from his best friend.


	7. Part VII: Alya

First period had yet to begin, but Alya already knew this Monday morning wasn’t going to mark the start of a good week. 

She was fine, all things considered, but some of her friends weren’t. Alya looked at Marinette, who still didn’t look like she was sleeping very well, and then at Adrien’s empty place in front of her. Marinette might not have even made it to class on time this morning if Alya hadn’t specifically gone by her place on the way to school (which wasn’t on Alya’s usual route but was near enough that she could justify the detour, as she often had before). Adrien’s absence was conspicuous as ever—people had begun wondering aloud, if only in whispers, whether he would reappear at school at all—and even Nino looked preoccupied, staring off into space (albeit in the direction of the window) with a slight frown on his face.

Chloé had a frown on her face, too, but she nearly always did—it seemed to be that, a sneer, or a triumphant smile—so Alya wasn’t going to count that. She certainly didn’t count Chloé among her friends. But even Chloé was more subdued than usual, and her frequent glances at Adrien’s empty spot left no question as to why.

Sabrina still hovered near Chloé, but the cautious extra foot of space between them spoke volumes. Rose and Juleka spoke in quiet whispers as per usual, but not with the frequency Alya was used to, and the lapses of silence came often. She couldn’t hear Ivan behind her, though she guessed he was slumped over the desk, resting his head on his arms, but she could hear the compulsive scratch of Nathanaël’s pencil on his sketchpad two rows back. Across the aisle, Mylène was biting her lip and staring at her hands. Alix, who was usually engaged in conversation with either Mylène or Kim and Max, behind them, was slumped silently in her seat with her arms crossed. A quick turn of the head confirmed that Max was hunched over his phone while Kim stared blankly ahead.

The conversation between Juleka and Rose petered out, and silence descended upon the room once more.

Everyone still seemed to feel guilty when they caught themselves smiling or laughing; Alya knew she wasn’t exempt to that. It felt wrong, even if Adrien—who had smiled so easily before—wasn’t there to begrudge their happiness. Not that he would. He was infinitely better than what both she and Marinette had initially believed, and she was never happier to have been wrong.

But time had marched on, as it was apt to do, and Alya realized that she’d been hoping this week would be the week where they could all go back to pretending things were normal. Adrien might still be at home, but his absence here was tangible, and it affected the rest of them.

“How are you doing, Marinette?” Alya asked quietly.

“Good,” Marinette answered automatically, though Alya (who was already skeptical) had even less reason to trust this response when Marinette didn’t even raise her head from her desk. 

Now, Alya thought she knew Marinette well enough to usually know the reasons her friend wasn’t sleeping. Back when Alya had first met her, Marinette’s daydreaming about Adrien had seemed to affect her ability to actually dream of him—she had looked weary for at least a month, though she had insisted it was just the result of taking on some new responsibilities—but since then, Alya had seen her friend lose sleep to stay up to finish projects, be they school or fashion-related. She’d had a few interesting babysitting experiences, she sometimes became terrified or excited about an upcoming event, and at least once she’d stayed up all night to finish reading a book she’d just started that evening.

But even though Alya tried to give Marinette every opportunity to do so, she refused to admit why she was losing sleep now. Nino said Alya was overthinking things, that Marinette just really felt for Adrien, that she had too much empathy for her own good, but Alya thought it was more than that. Marinette wasn’t just worried about Adrien. She didn’t just take his father’s death harder than anyone else in class. And her newfound ability to talk to Adrien wasn’t the only thing she didn’t want to tell Alya about.

Marinette, for whatever reason, was trying to keep something a secret from her best friend. 

The secret itself, whatever it was, was the reason Marinette was having trouble sleeping. If keeping the secret from Alya played into that at all, it was going to be a very small part. But Alya didn’t just want to know because she was curious. She wanted to know so that she could help Marinette. Or at least help her through whatever this was, if the issue itself couldn’t be tackled directly.

“Are you s—?” Alya bit off her question as Mme Bustier walked into the room. She already knew Marinette would use that as an excuse to avoid the question. Marinette had become remarkably adept at changing the subject and prolonging small talk as well, so Alya had no hope of getting answers out of her until lunch at the very least. Grimly, she settled back in her seat and focused her attention on their teacher, just as everyone else in the room was doing.

By the time lunch rolled around, Alya had a few more things on her list to investigate. Marinette likely didn’t realize it, but one hand drifted up to check that she hadn’t lost an earring at least once every half hour, and every time they had a break, she would look in her purse. The other oddity Alya had noticed was seemingly unrelated to Marinette, as it was the fact that Chloé had sought out and cornered Nino for a quick conversation between first and second period. Chloé had come away looking annoyed (no surprise there), while Nino just looked troubled.

He was also being tight-lipped about it.

“It’s Chloé,” he hedged when Alya asked. “What do you think she wanted?”

Alya crossed her arms. Marinette wasn’t there to back her up, as the girl had told her to go on ahead while she tied her shoe. Alya hadn’t been able to come up with a good excuse to stick around, and talking to Nino was something she’d thought she could do without Marinette.

“Okay, fine.” Alya hadn’t even needed to say anything, and Nino was already caving. “She’s just worried about Adrien. Like we are. She wanted to know if I knew how he was doing.”

Alya raised one eyebrow. Marinette had told her that Chloé had visited Adrien on Saturday. She knew that Nino had gone over yesterday, but Chloé wouldn’t expect much to change in a day, would she? Even if she did, Nino wouldn’t have told _her_ that he’d visited Adrien yesterday.

“I, um, think she might have been hoping that he’d be back in school.”

Alya frowned; while that wasn’t unlikely, Nino had suddenly become fascinated with something over her left shoulder, and he couldn’t be telling her everything he knew. “Did she know you were going to see him?”

Something suspiciously like a nervous chuckle escaped Nino. “What? No. How’d she know something like that? She probably just figured I’d go because we’re friends.”

“Nino.” He looked at her, and Alya continued, “Yesterday was the first time you saw him since the service.”

Nino cringed, and Alya knew she had him. He answered her next question before she even needed to ask it. “All right, so Chloé might’ve dropped a hint that I should go. She wanted to know how it went.”

This time, both of Alya’s eyebrows went up. “Chloé asked you to visit Adrien? And followed up on that?” That wasn’t something Alya would expect of Chloé; frankly, Alya would’ve thought Chloé believed her visits would do wonders for Adrien compared to Nino’s. The fact that she had asked Nino to go—and had followed up on it—meant she thought she had cause for concern that went above and beyond whatever was normal.

Something Chloé, Alya had to admit, would know far more about than she.

Still, Marinette had never mentioned anything out of the ordinary to Alya, and she saw Adrien more often than the rest of them did now.

That meant either Chloé or Marinette had misjudged the situation—or that the discrepancy pointed to a secret, quite possibly one related to whatever Marinette was keeping. It might even _be_ the secret Marinette was keeping, at least part of it, though Alya wasn’t sure what to do with this insight if it was. 

Others might find Marinette’s sudden closeness with Adrien suspicious, but unfortunately for her best friend, Alya highly doubted Marinette was keeping a new relationship with Adrien a secret. She wasn’t sure Marinette would be able to keep _that_ a secret anyway, and if it did happen (and for Marinette’s sake, Alya really hoped it would), she would tell Alya even if she and Adrien did try to keep it under wraps from the general public. But they didn’t need to be a couple to share a secret.

Okay, so maybe their sudden closeness _was_ cause for suspicion—particularly given that Marinette saw more of Adrien than Nino did these days—but Alya would bet they weren’t officially dating yet. If nothing else, Chloé would come down harder than usual on Marinette if she even suspected there was a chance of that right now, but the school’s queen bee wasn’t going out of her way to make anyone’s life miserable.

That in and of itself might relate to another mystery—the disappearance of Ladybug and Chat Noir and the lack of supervillains in general—but Alya knew better than to blame all of Paris’s usual misfortune on one teenage girl.

Still, Marinette might be less suspicious if she started talking about that mystery first. Alya was pretty sure she could guide the conversation around to that topic if Marinette let it go on for long enough, and she was much less likely to cut this short. It was, after all, normal for Alya to bring up Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she hadn’t very often in the last couple of weeks.

Alya smiled, though Nino had never answered her question. “You know, it was good of you to go.” It didn’t make it any less strange that Chloé was the one to suggest it, though, and from Nino’s uncomfortable look, he knew that. He also probably correctly suspected that Alya was giving him a brief reprieve rather than dropping the subject entirely. “I bet Adrien appreciated that.”

“Yeah,” Nino agreed quietly.

“There’s Marinette,” Alya added, spotting her friend at last. “Did you want to join us for lunch?”

Nino declined, as Alya had suspected he would when she’d asked him, and she and Marinette went to eat on a bench outside by themselves. Marinette made no attempt to begin a conversation, as she hadn’t any time Alya had been with her recently, so Alya decided to jump right into things. “Do you think this is it?”

Marinette swallowed her first bite of sandwich and looked quizzically at Alya, who had been deliberately vague to pull Marinette into the conversation. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve had no akuma victims,” Alya pointed out, “and no sightings of Ladybug _or_ Chat Noir. What if they’re gone for good? What if the fight’s over?”

Marinette blanched and put her sandwich down with one hand while reaching up to touch her earrings with another. For some reason, the latter gesture seemed to reassure her. “The fight might be over,” she said softly, “but maybe the recovery isn’t.”

Now, that was interesting. Alya had plenty of theories about what had happened, but Marinette had been quiet whenever she’d brought this up before. “Recovery? From what?”

Marinette’s uncertainty returned immediately. “Er, well, from the, uh, fight. Like you said.”

“So not just the last documented akuma attack, you mean,” Alya clarified, pretending she hadn’t been the one to mention _the fight_. “Because as far as I can tell, that was routine. They stopped the villain, Ladybug fixed the damage, and everything went back to normal.”

“Do things ever really go back to normal?” Marinette whispered. “Have they since Paris was first attacked?”

“Maybe they have now. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they did manage to defeat Hawk Moth himself.” Although that didn’t explain why the two of them weren’t still seen doing other things around the city. She knew for a fact that Ladybug and Chat Noir had both individually rescued more than one cat stuck in a tree, and little cases like that—acts that weren’t directly related to fighting some sort of supervillain—weren’t uncommon even if they weren’t particularly frequent. 

“I never said that!” Marinette blurted. 

Curiouser and curiouser. Alya had meant to use this conversation as a way to get Marinette to let something slip about whatever secret she was keeping, but she hadn’t expected a reaction like this. True, she’d never gone as far as speculating that Hawk Moth really had been defeated before—she was sure the final fight between them all would be spectacular, not completely unobserved—but from Marinette’s reaction, the thought had clearly crossed her mind.

“You said that they might need time to recover. What other fight would require so much time? No one’s seen them in two weeks.”

Marinette seemed to have forgotten about her lunch. At this rate, Alya had no intention of starting hers; the last thing she wanted was to give Marinette an opportunity to change the subject. She felt bad about interrogating her friend, but she was starting to think Marinette might actually know something about this.

Alya wasn’t sure why Marinette wouldn’t have said anything to her if that were the case; she’d been happy enough to share the information she’d found out about Ladybug at the museum, if having Alya stare blankly at hieroglyphs written on papyrus for what had felt like hours constituted _sharing_. Although….

Although, that had been the last time Marinette had been like this with Alya. She’d vehemently insisted that Ladybug _couldn’t_ be someone who went to their school, and the fact that Ladybug had hung around the Ancient Egyptians had seemingly proved Marinette right. Still, Marinette had ‘forgotten her history book at home’ the day Alya had had what she’d assumed to be Ladybug’s copy. If Ladybug had picked up Marinette’s copy—if Alya really had had Marinette’s textbook—then it meant Marinette had been around when Ladybug had fought the previous fight, something she’d always denied. 

And it might very well mean Ladybug knew Marinette. Alya had blogged about the fact that her school was the only one to use that textbook in all of Paris, but how likely was Ladybug to know that fact beforehand? She had much more reason to pick up a lost textbook if she could return it to its owner.

If she coupled _that_ with Marinette’s insights now? The way she’d brought up the need for recovery with such quiet certainty….

“Oh my god, girl, how could you not _tell_ me? Were you sworn to secrecy or something?”

Marinette’s eyes widened in alarm. “No!” she yelped, which did nothing but cement Alya’s conviction.

“So Ladybug and Chat Noir really _did_ fight Hawk Moth?” Alya pressed. “And they defeated him? That’s why there haven’t been any attacks?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You said the recovery wasn’t over,” Alya reminded her again. “That in and of itself is odd. Like I said, Ladybug restores everything at the end of a fight. Any injuries they obtained would be fixed as if they’d never been sustained.”

Marinette, who had looked increasingly frightened, now just looked confused. But after a split second, she composed herself. “I think you’re reading too much into my words, Alya.” This was accompanied with a forced laugh. “I’m just guessing.”

Right. Alya had been Marinette’s friend too long to believe that. “Then humour me and keep guessing, girl. What’s there to recover from when Ladybug can fix the damage?” She could push the real issue later and confirm that Marinette knew Ladybug on a more personal level than Alya did, despite Alya having devoted her time to tracking down Ladybug and…and even interviewing her. Thanks to Marinette, who had set up the entire thing. How had she not seen this before?

Alya almost missed Marinette’s shrug and the quiet words that accompanied it: “Ladybug can only fix the physical damage.”

The implications were obvious, more so because of what Adrien was going through right now. “You think this fight might have affected them emotionally. Mentally.”

Marinette attempted a smile. “I never said there was a fight, Alya. You did.”

“But you’re the one who knows Ladybug.”

Marinette froze for a second. “Everyone knows Ladybug.”

“Not as well as you do.”

Marinette made a strangled sound before managing to voice her protests. “Ladybug’s over three thousand years old!”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have friends,” Alya countered. And she wasn’t sure she was entirely convinced that Ladybug _was_ that old. Ladybug was a legend—Alya had tried to research her as best she could, though she hadn’t found anything particularly reliable—but from the way she fought, she wasn’t immortal. So maybe this Ladybug, their Ladybug, wasn’t the same Ladybug who had been in Ancient Egypt. Alya couldn’t explain how her powers had stayed the same if Ladybug was a role passed down through the generations, and she couldn’t explain the long absences, but maybe….

Maybe Marinette could.

Not that she would admit it.

“No,” Marinette agreed, “but it doesn’t mean I’m one of them, either. What gave you that crazy idea?”

“The interview,” Alya replied. “The history textbook. Your conviction that she’s not dating Chat Noir?”

Marinette turned red and mumbled, “It’s just an opinion.”

“That’s pretty much exclusive to you. C’mon, Marinette. You said Ladybug and Chat Noir needed to recover from their fight. That wasn’t just a guess. I know you too well for that. And you practically admitted you were sworn to secrecy on the issue, so I promise not to rub it in _too_ much if you at least confirm that you know Ladybug. And I get, say, a couple hundred dozen croissants over the next few years.”

Marinette snorted. “I can’t, Alya.”

“Cookies, then?”

“You know what I mean.”

Alya did, but that didn’t mean she believed it. She’d let it go for now, though. She owed Marinette that much. And if she thought it over, she might figure out a way to prove—or disprove—her current hypothesis. “All right, then. So how’s Adrien?”

“Adrien has nothing to do with this!”

Alya hadn’t thought he did until now. She narrowed her eyes. “Adrien’s in on this, too?”

“Alya!”

“That’s why you guys are suddenly able to talk now? Because he found out, too? Or….” Alya trailed off, realization suddenly sinking in.

When Alya had pointed out Adrien’s similarity to Chat Noir, Marinette had ignored all evidence and insisted until she was blue in the face that he couldn’t _possibly_ be the superhero.

Marinette’s crush on Adrien was definitely real, and her nervousness around him had definitely _begun_ as real, but what if, in the end, it had just been a mask? Her sudden confidence around him and the fact that she’d mysteriously become a closer confidant to him than Nino certainly pointed to her usual actions as being an act. Adrien had been friendly toward her, of course; he had been to everyone. And he certainly didn’t act like Chat Noir. But he _could_ act. Modelling might not be the same, but there was definitely some overlap in the skillset, based on the prompts she’d overheard Adrien receive from his photographer.

So maybe Marinette didn’t actually know Ladybug.

Maybe she knew Chat Noir.

_Maybe Adrien was Chat Noir._

It made Marinette’s comment about recovery make more sense, even if Adrien’s emotional grief didn’t primarily stem from the outcome of a fight. And knowing Chat Noir would give Marinette enough connection to Ladybug to explain everything else, too.

And pretending to still be nervous around Adrien would stop Alya from asking questions Marinette wasn’t able to answer, because she’d promised to keep quiet.

And she was still keeping quiet, and that’s why she was losing sleep. That’s why she was taking this so hard. Because she knew what else Adrien was going through.

But what if…. What if the death of his father wasn’t the only death Adrien was facing? What if, by defeating Hawk Moth—they must have defeated Hawk Moth—Chat Noir hadn’t been able to protect his lady? What if he was grieving for _two_ people instead of just one?

“Alya, I know that look. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

What if no one had seen Ladybug and Chat Noir was because Ladybug was gone and Chat Noir was still too distraught over not having been able to protect her to bring himself to go out without her?

“Alya?”

Was Ladybug _gone_?

“Alya!”

Alya blinked. “Sorry, I just…. I didn’t realize before.”

And she hadn’t thought Ladybug would truly be gone, just like that. Alya looked up to her—whoever said girls couldn’t do just as much as boys?—and to think that she might not….

Marinette sighed. “Alya, you’re usually the one who needs to keep _me_ on track.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “All I’m saying is that _if_ Ladybug and Chat Noir fought Hawk Moth, maybe they’re still recovering from that fight. Not…whatever you thought.”

Maybe Alya should believe that, but Marinette had picked up her sandwich again instead of meeting Alya’s eye, and she suddenly wasn’t sure of her best friend anymore. But maybe Marinette was being honest in that and was simply out of sorts given the other mystery. “All right, then tell me what’s really bothering you so I don’t keep jumping to conclusions.”

“I just….” Marinette bit her lip. “I keep thinking about what happened with Adrien’s dad.” She took another bite of her lunch and chewed slowly.

This time, Alya had no trouble believing her. When she wasn’t distracting herself with the mystery of the disappearing heroes, the memory sobered her, too. It did the same for everyone. 

And maybe the reason she was jumping to conclusions was because she was _still_ trying to distract herself.

“It’s not something anyone would have predicted,” Alya agreed softly, “but sometimes that’s just how things are: unpredictable and completely unexpected.”

Marinette swallowed but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, look, maybe my conclusions _were_ completely off the mark,” Alya continued. “Maybe things really are just quiet. Maybe Ladybug is fine. Maybe Adrien really isn’t Chat Noir—” Alya broke off as Marinette started to choke on the next bite of her sandwich. “Are you okay?”

Marinette nodded, still coughing. Tears were streaming down her cheeks by the time she was able to breathe easily, the redness in her face fading. “I’m fine,” she insisted at Alya’s look. Then, with more conviction, “I’m fine.” And, softer, “As fine as I can be.”

Which was not fine at all, by Alya’s definition. Not where it mattered. “Marinette, I know you’re taking this hard. Please, just talk to me. That’s what friends are for, right?”

For a long moment, Marinette was silent. Alya thought she might not say anything at all, that she’d still insist on keeping the secret that was clearly eating away at her, but at last Marinette repeated, “I keep thinking about what happened. It doesn’t seem fair, and I know life isn’t fair, but that’s not the point. Adrien didn’t deserve this. And I….” Her voice cracked. “I keep thinking….” A swallow, accompanied by furious blinking. “What if things weren’t this way?”

Alya leaned over to hug Marinette. “We can’t change the past,” she said. She remembered the villain Alix had become, Timebreaker, and shoved the thought aside. Even if that power could be granted to someone, the cost of change was too high to pay. “Maybe things could be different, but they aren’t. Adrien lost his father. You and I are lucky to still have ours. But none of us love our parents any less.”

Marinette pulled away and shook her head. “I’m not worried about my dad,” she said. “I’m just….”

“Sympathetic?”

“Guilty, I think,” whispered Marinette. 

“For being happy that your dad is okay?” Alya wasn’t sure that was it, but Marinette didn’t contradict her. Of course, Marinette didn’t look her in the eye, either, preferring to stare blankly downwards again. Alya decided to keep going. “I think we all feel that way. And we feel guilty because we’re happy we’re not in Adrien’s situation. You’re right, Marinette. He didn’t deserve this. None of us do. But there’s no sense in feeling guilty over something we couldn’t have changed anyway.”

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut. “Not helping, Alya.”

“Well, then what can I do to help? I’d listen if you were talking, you know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that I’ve been carrying the bulk our conversations for the last couple of weeks. I know something’s wrong, Marinette, something besides feeling terrible that Adrien lost his father, but I have no idea what it is, and I can’t be there for you if you shut me out.”

“It’s fine, Alya.”

“No, it’s not.”

Marinette opened her eyes. “Okay, it’s not. Not yet. But it will be. I just need time. This isn’t something you can help with. Not beyond doing what you already are, anyway, which is being a good friend. And distracting me when I need distracting and keeping me on track when I don’t.”

“Marinette—”

“Please don’t push this right now.” Marinette spoke the words in a rush, looking like she felt guilty about how much they’d hurt Alya.

They did hurt a little, if she were being honest. She and Marinette were best friends, and this was the first time Alya could remember Marinette so obviously keeping something from her. (Marinette’s crush on Adrien didn’t count, as it hadn’t taken Alya long to figure it out, even with her excitement over the appearances of Ladybug and Chat Noir.) But that wasn’t as bad as flatly refusing Alya’s help without so much as an indication that she was talking to someone else and not trying to do this, whatever it was, alone. 

But because Marinette was her best friend, Alya was going to respect her wishes. At least until Marinette gave her enough indication that intervening—somehow—would be for her own good. Marinette’s trouble sleeping wasn’t a good indication that she was handling this well, of course, but she wanted time, and Alya would give her a bit more.

Besides, what had she said about Ladybug and Chat Noir? _The fight might be over, but maybe the recovery isn’t._ Maybe her words didn’t indicate some insight into the disappearance of Paris’s heroes after all. Maybe Marinette was referring to herself. Maybe she’d overcome some problem— _some problem she’d kept from her best friend_ —and was trying to recover from that battle.

Alya prided herself on her journalistic skills, but she’d missed a major crisis unfolding under her own nose. What kind of friend did that? Apparently, someone who had been too distracted with other issues to notice. She’d never meant to put Ladybug and Chat Noir above her friendship to Marinette.

Alya gave her best friend another quick hug. “Okay. Okay, I won’t. I’m sorry. Just—” another squeeze “—I’m here for you if you change your mind, okay? Anytime. I mean it.”

“I know. Thank you.” Marinette took a shaky breath. “I’m just…. I’m just going to go get a drink. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Alya let Marinette make her escape, and she wasn’t entirely surprised to see Nino wander over when Marinette didn’t return. He took Marinette’s place beside her. “Marinette’s really taking this hard, isn’t she?”

“It’s not just Adrien’s dad’s passing,” Alya said. “There’s something else she’s not telling me about, but she says she just wants some time to figure things out.”

Nino gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Sounds like what Adrien said to me. He just wanted some space, some time, to get himself together, you know? But I don’t think I did the right thing. I mean, I kinda used that as an excuse to not have to deal with it myself. I just didn’t know how. So I just….” He shrugged. “Ignored it. Stayed away. Even when I think he really needed me.”

“You don’t know that, Nino. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Marinette was there for him when I wasn’t,” Nino pointed out. “Adrien was probably really busy at the start of it, even with Nathalie taking the lead on organizing everything. I doubt he had time to think. But now that things have been slowing down? I think I should have made more of an effort to be there for him.”

“When he asked you to step back?”

“Yeah. Because he doesn’t have a lot of people to turn to right now. I should’ve made sure I was one of them before yesterday. Who knows? Maybe I would have been able to help out earlier. Do more than get some flowers and help my mom make some food to drop off and show up for the service.”

“Don’t be silly. Adrien needs you—all of us—now more than ever.”

“Yeah.” Nino was quiet for a moment. “I really think you’re right about that, Alya. He…. He didn’t say anything to me, but he said something to Chloé that seemed to freak her out a bit. That’s why she told me to go visit him. It was really weird, seeing Chloé so worried about someone besides herself. But I guess a lot of weird things have been happening lately.”

Alya frowned. “Like?”

Nino smirked. “Like the headline news on the Ladyblog. Plus some small stuff.”

“Like Marinette and Adrien suddenly being really close? Or whatever is so secret she won’t even tell me?”

Nino nodded. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. Alya wanted to push him, to see what he was going to say, but this time, she let it go. She didn’t need to keep jumping to conclusions and seeing connections where there were none. She didn’t need to know everything and push her friends past the point where they were comfortable just because she was curious. She valued their friendship more.

Even if she did want to know everything.

Marinette finally reappeared around the corner, and Nino got to his feet despite Alya’s protests that he didn’t need to go. He walked a few feet before stopping and turning back, adding, “Oh, and Alya— If you and Marinette go to visit Adrien at some point, see if he’s wearing his ring.”

Alya frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t remember if I saw it when I was there,” Nino explained. “I thought maybe he lost it. He never said anything, so maybe he just took it off, but….” Nino shrugged. “He must love the thing. I don’t really remember ever seeing him without it. I was just thinking, if he lost it, that might be another reason he’s out of sorts. Small things like that can really throw you off after something big happens, right?”

“Right,” Alya murmured. Then, louder, “Okay. Next time I see him, I’ll look to see if he’s wearing it.”

Nino smiled. “Thanks.”

Marinette returned but couldn’t convince Nino to stay, either. Alya kept up the conversation, though she avoided mentioning secrets or Adrien or Ladybug and Chat Noir. She’d mull over all of that later. Marinette had definitely reacted when Alya had mentioned being sworn to secrecy, and given what Nino had said about feeling bad over his inaction…. Maybe she could settle for trying to pick out any clues Marinette had dropped and figure things out from there. 

Adrien being Chat Noir might have been a stretch, but there was still—

Alya blinked, already forgetting what Marinette had just said. She was too busy thinking about what _Nino_ had said. “His ring.”

_His ring_.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Adrien’s ring. Possibly missing. And Chat Noir, _definitely_ missing. Whose ring gave him his powers, allowed him to transform and become the superhero he was. 

Maybe she hadn’t been so far off, after all.

And Marinette….

“Alya?”

Marinette was keeping secrets. Secrets she felt she had to keep, even from her best friend. _Adrien can’t be Chat Noir._ Couldn’t he be? No matter what Marinette had said, they really looked alike. And if it was possible that Chat Noir and Ladybug weren’t the same people they had been thousands of years ago….

_I already told you, I forgot my textbook at home._ Or Ladybug had had it, and then Alya. All along.

_The fight might be over, but maybe the recovery isn’t._

Alya stared at Marinette, who was frowning now. “Alya,” she said, “are you even listening to me?”

“I just….” Alya couldn’t find the right words. “I just need to check something.” She didn’t know for sure. She might be grasping at straws or making wild conclusions again. But she needed to check, as best she could, because if she was right….

What did it mean if she was right?

Alya scrambled to her feet, knowing Marinette let her because it was _Marinette_ , and she was used to Alya doing things like this. And she didn’t try to stop her this time because she didn’t know this time was any different from last time. She didn’t know that Alya was staring at the conclusion that had been under her nose this entire time, the conclusion that explained _everything_ , not just most things.

It might not be right.

Alya knew that.

But she wasn’t going to discount it yet. She wasn’t going to discard it out of hand as being ridiculous. Not anymore. Because things had changed, and that slight shift had shed some light on a few things Alya had never even realized were missing. She wasn’t going to bring it up right now, not to Marinette or Nino and certainly not to Adrien, but she was going to explore the possibility.

And then….

And then she’d see what it meant, if she was right.


	8. Part VIII: Tom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually working on [my other _Miraculous Ladybug_ fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7233103/chapters/16419748), but then I found myself really needing to write this, so here we are. Thank you to everyone who has ever taken the time to leave a comment on this fic! I truly appreciate it.

Tom wasn’t sure what woke him. The last memories of his dream melted away even as he tried to catch them, and he lay still for a moment just staring up at the dark ceiling. Sabine still slept soundly beside him, and the city outside was as quiet as it ever was, but he was certain some sound had pulled him from his sleep.

The clock on the bedside table declared it to be half past three in the morning as he eased himself slowly out of bed. A bit of water would do the trick. Sabine always scolded him for never drinking enough during the day, for all that it felt like he guzzled it when having the ovens on during the warmest days. That was surely all he needed now.

Tom slipped into the hallway, having walked it often enough to be able to do that comfortably in the dark, and passed the short distance to the kitchen. As he was pulling a glass from the cupboard, he heard the muffled sob for what it was.

It was coming from the Marinette’s room.

Tom replaced the water glass and pulled out two mugs instead, this time turning on the light over the stove and setting about preparing hot cocoa. Sabine had noticed Marinette’s sleeplessness before he did—he was already down in the bakery by the time Marinette got up and ready for school—and at first, they’d thought it simply that she grieved for her classmate’s father. But whenever they offered to talk to her, she changed the subject, and she never took any opening they gave her when it came to broaching the subject in the first place.

They’d kept an eye on her, of course, but she wasn’t isolating herself. She still went out regularly with Alya, she’d visited Adrien more than once, and while she certainly seemed more distracted than usual, she was completing her schoolwork, if not as well as she might have otherwise. Still, even he could see at mealtimes how the bags under her eyes had grown, how she’d sometimes stare off into space during conversations, and how her smiles were now forced.

His little girl seemed to be getting worse, not better. 

Tom held the two steaming mugs in one hand and climbed the stairs to Marinette’s room in the other. He tapped gently on the trap door at the top, and the quiet sobs cut off abruptly. He let himself in anyway, careful not to wake Sabine, and closed the door to muffle the sounds of the conversation he would soon have with his daughter.

There was still no sound coming from her bed. 

He walked to the foot of the stairs leading up to the loft and called softly, “Marinette?”

Nothing.

“I made cocoa. Come sit with me. Unless you’d like me to come up?”

“Dad.” How could his daughter make that word sound so pained, so broken? “You hate climbing these stairs.”

That was true; he thought they were too rickety for him. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it. “I hate seeing my daughter in tears with troubles she thinks she needs to keep to herself,” Tom corrected as he reached the top.

In the wane light coming in from the glass door above them and the picture windows below, he could see Marinette had made a nest of blankets for herself at the head of her bed. She was curled up right against her cat pillow, hugging her knees and waiting for him. The pink pillow with the bow tie, one of the first things she’d sewn herself, looked wet even in the dim light. It lay beside a box of tissues at her feet.

She scooted to her left, revealing a pile of sodden tissues on the built-in shelf behind her. He walked around the bed and handed her the first cup before climbing on top of the blankets beside her with his own cup.

Like his daughter, Tom kept his fingers wrapped around the body of the mug and let the warmth seep into them. He would stay here until it grew cold if need be. Tom was used to waiting. Patience was one quality a baker acquired if he did not already have enough upon starting his trade. Baking was not something meant to be rushed, and neither was something like this.

Marinette sipped her cocoa and stared straight ahead, not volunteering anything. She knew what he wanted. He had already made that clear, and she knew from past experience that both he and her mother would be willing to listen whenever she was ready to talk. But she also knew from past experience that, if they thought she needed to talk when she wasn’t, they would make sure she had the opportunity to do so. This was not the first time Tom had made hot cocoa for his daughter in the middle of the night, and he doubted it would be the last.

“This isn’t something you can help me with, Dad,” Marinette finally whispered.

“Your mother and I might surprise you. Why not tell me about it first, just in case?”

“Alya already tried that,” Marinette mumbled, which did nothing to ease Tom’s worry. He could understand that a teenage girl would want to keep some things from her parents, especially her father, but he would have thought those things would be discussed in detail with her best friend. 

“Believe it or not, your old man has been around longer than Alya.”

“I know.” Marinette took a slow sip of cocoa. “I don’t know if that matters here.”

“Well, let’s find out. Even if you can’t tell me everything, you can surely tell me something. You know I’ll hear you out.”

The seconds of silence stretched into minutes. Tom watched as Marinette finished her cocoa in an attempt to prolong it, but at last she slipped the empty mug onto the shelf behind her and shifted so that she was resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and waited.

“I made a terrible mistake,” Marinette began. “It can’t be fixed, and it doesn’t only affect me. I…I guess, to be fair, it was more of an accident, but it wasn’t just me, and between the two of us….” She took a deep breath. “But it was my poor judgement. I made the call. And it was the wrong one. We wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me, and now….” Marinette’s trailed off and she sniffed before grabbing a tissue and wiping at her eyes and nose.

Tom waited, but she didn’t continue. She didn’t clarify where she’d been or when or who she’d been with, what the effects were or how it had all started. He decided to let her keep her secrets for now. “Were you there for a good reason?”

Another sniff, followed by the barely audible answer: “Yes.”

“And were you trying to do something good, even if you failed?”

“Yes.”

“Have you done anything to make amends for this mistake, this accident, even if you can’t undo what was done in the first place?”

Marinette was quiet for a moment. “I’ve talked to the person who’s most affected, but I don’t think either of us know what can be done.”

“But did you ask?”

“Not in so many words,” allowed Marinette. “I just…offered. To be there. For anything. In case.”

“In case of what?”

“In the case that anything I can do is needed. I don’t know. It was the only thing I could think of, but it’s not enough. I know it isn’t. But nothing is. Nothing can be.”

He could feel as well as hear her shaky breaths, and he put his own mug of cocoa—only half empty but now barely lukewarm—behind him so that he could hug her. She began to cry, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to hold her breath before letting it out in a shuddering sob. She turned and buried her face in his chest, latching onto him with a fierce strength that suggested he and Sabine had waited too long for one of them to have this conversation with her.

He let her cry, hugging her tightly in return and patting her back until she chose to pull away and reach for more tissues. His nightshirt was soaked, but Marinette merely wrapped a blanket around both of them and rested her head on his shoulder again.

“It can always be the start of something,” Tom said eventually. “Whatever efforts you make, here and now and later on, can help. Maybe the mistake can’t be undone, maybe you can’t rebuild from the accident exactly, but if you let go of the idea that things were perfect as they were, you can see this as an opportunity to make your circumstances even better.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” his daughter whispered. “Not with this.”

“Have you tried?” Marinette’s silence answered that question, so Tom continued, “Maybe you don’t know where to start, and that’s all right. Maybe you don’t know where exactly you’re planning on going in the end, but that’s all right, too. Start with something small, even if you think it’s insignificant, and see how much you can change things for the better that way, one thing at a time. Take it in steps; don’t try to fix everything at once and be overwhelmed by all that needs to be done. And remember, Marinette: great beauty can come out of flaws. Sometimes, the best way to fix them is to find a way for them to shine.”

The odd hitch in Marinette’s breathing, the sudden tremble that she couldn’t quite suppress, the way she leaned into him for reassurance…. It all told Tom more than any words could. Marinette was trying to walk a path that shouldn’t be walked alone, and she was feeling the pressure of that choice. She might not be ready to confide in him entirely, but she’d told him enough that he could try to help her, and he and Sabine would both sit with her like this if that’s the support she needed from them.

“This…accident.” Marinette said the word like she wanted to substitute it for _mistake_ again, to take the blame wholly upon herself when she shouldn’t, as he understood it. “The worst damage isn’t physical. I mean, what’s left to be fixed…. That’s not physical. So _fixing it_ isn’t really, well….”

“Fixing it isn’t the right term,” Tom agreed, “but _growing_ might be. _Learning_ , certainly. _Coping_ , perhaps. But still _rebuilding_ , whether it’s your sense of self or your outlook on the world or your appreciation for how quickly things can change. Ignoring and burying the past might be tempting, but what you might think is the easiest method isn’t necessarily the best.”

“I know, Dad.”

She might know, but he had a feeling she needed to hear it again. Tom found her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Now, _adapting_ and _living_? In my experience, that’s usually the best way to move forward. Adapting can help you prevent the accident from happening again or prevent others from making a similar mistake. And living? That requires acceptance of what happened. Forgiveness may come later, but acceptance is important now. It is done. It cannot be changed. But the scars don’t have to define you unless you let them. You can build upon them, you can showcase them, or you can suffer under them, and that’s a choice only you can make.”

Silence again, but Marinette’s breathing was evening out, and she’d stopped shaking. This time, Tom let the silence stand. He could speak with Marinette again, and Sabine could have her turn when the moment was right. 

Tom wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Marinette nestled next to him as if she were a little girl again, but he enjoyed being with her, if not the reason which had brought them together. She was so busy now, with school and friends and all her little projects. He still saw her for a few moments at lunch—she came home unless she and Alya planned otherwise—and for supper, but if she wasn’t out in the evenings, she was usually working on something in her room. She would still help him out in the bakery when he asked, but she volunteered less often than she once had.

He missed her, but she was growing up, and he had to let her go.

Just not quite yet.

“I love you, Dad,” Marinette murmured.

“I love you, too,” he said. “I always will, no matter what. I hope you know that.”

“I do.” He couldn’t see her smiling, but he imagined that she was—a genuine smile, if a small one. She had a beautiful smile, his little girl. “Thank you, Dad. For everything.”

Yes, she was growing up. Someday, the time would come when she didn’t think she needed him anymore, but he hoped that day was a long way off.


	9. Part IX: Sabrina

“Sending flowers now is a sure way to brighten his day,” Sabrina insisted as she trotted along the street after Chloé, who was still brooding about the death of Adrien’s father even if she denied it. “That’s the best idea we, uh, _you_ ’ve ever had!”

Chloé didn’t stop to scold Sabrina when she misspoke or meet her eye with a satisfied look at the correction. She didn’t say a lot to Sabrina these days, and half the time she did, it was in anger. But it was far from the first time Sabrina’s best friend had snapped at her, and Sabrina would be the first to point out that she had good reason to be moody now.

But part of being a good friend was making sure you were there for them when they needed you, and Sabrina was sure Chloé needed her.

“Adrien will love the flowers, and they’ll stand out now,” added Sabrina as she shifted the heavy bouquet from one arm to the other.

Chloé stopped dead in her tracks, and Sabrina nearly ran into her. As it was, it took some quick manoeuvring not to get pollen all over Chloé’s designer clothes. Without turning, Chloé bit out, “Now that all the ones other people have sent are dead, you mean?”

In truth, that _was_ mostly what Sabrina had meant, but the bouquet she’d chosen was special for more than just its timing. This particular florist had been saved by Ladybug and Chat Noir not long before they’d both vanished. According to the florist, Chat Noir had come by to check up on his children the next evening and, at the request of the youngest, written a handful of signed cards for all of them. 

When Sabrina had heard this, she knew they had to get one. Adrien might not be as vocal a fan as Chloé or Alya, but Sabrina knew he was a fan of Paris’s heroes. Sure, they all were—how could they not be?—but she’d caught Adrien looking at the Ladyblog on his phone more than once when he didn’t think anyone was around. She was good at noticing things like that, perhaps because people didn’t always notice those kinds of things about her. 

The florist had driven a hard bargain, especially given the recent absence of Paris’s heroes, but Sabrina had had Chloé’s money on hand and a determination the florist couldn’t match—especially when his body language had made it clear to her that he’d be willing to part with one of the cards (his own, he’d assured her, even though she hadn’t asked). Sabrina had walked out of the shop with a bouquet nearly as large as she was and a card that read, _Have a pawsitively clawsome day!_ It was signed with a quick drawing of a cat’s face, shaded to show its colour.

Sabrina had expected Chloé to be thrilled by the find.

She wasn’t.

And, as far as Sabrina could tell, it wasn’t just because she wanted to keep it for herself. Sabrina knew Chloé would value something from Ladybug even more, but Chat Noir’s autograph was nothing to sneeze at. 

“You’re sending these to Adrien as if they were from Chat Noir,” Sabrina pointed out. Chloé hadn’t protested that proposal in the slightest and had merely made a phone call to one of her father’s men to get everything in order; the man in question was to meet them at the park shortly to pick up the delivery. “They would stand out even if you had sent them right after we first heard the news. Can you imagine, getting something like this from one of Paris’s heroes?”

Chloé said nothing, opting instead to stomp ahead as if the conversation were beneath her. Sabrina was getting used to that by now. Sometimes, it seemed like Chloé was trying to push her away entirely. Sabrina wasn’t about to let her, especially when she suspected it was because Chloé had been reminded—painfully—about the price of caring about someone. Sabrina wasn’t going to lose her best friend over _that_. If they had a falling out, it wouldn’t be because Chloé had sabotaged their friendship.

Sabrina followed in silence as Chloé reached the park and stalked to the nearest bench. Sabrina sat down carefully beside her, keeping one eye on the road and one eye on her friend. Chloé looked like she might cry, which meant she might just as easily start yelling at Sabrina for the slightest mistake because being angry was easier for her than being sad. It gave her more control over her emotions, too. Chloé hated not being in control.

Sabrina had learned to be careful, but Chloé’s fuse had never been long, anyway. The staff at the _Grand Paris_ had assured her of this numerous times after Chloé’s explosions, but Sabrina still preferred being yelled at than being ignored. Chloé did both, of course, depending on her mood, even after Sabrina had become Vanisher. Sabrina admittedly didn’t remember much of the circumstances around that beyond what she’d been told—her parents first convinced that she’d been spending her nights sleeping over at Chloé’s, her mother checking with the school the second day which had led to her father’s desperate search when he’d realized that wasn’t the case, Chloé’s snide comment that Sabrina must be ill being taken as truth by the rest of her class—but after Chloé had given her the brooch—actually _given_ it to her, not just let her borrow it!—she hadn’t outright ignored Sabrina nearly as often.

This wasn’t that, that terrible sense of not existing for someone anymore. Chloé didn’t make any pretense of looking through her or avoiding her gaze entirely. She still acknowledged Sabrina’s presence; she just didn’t want to talk. 

Sabrina decided to try again anyway. “This’ll be great.” She shook the flowers for emphasis. “Really.”

“What if it’s not? What if it’s a mistake?” Chloé still didn’t look at her, stubbornly staring straight ahead instead. 

“It’s not a mistake. It’s another one of your brilliant ideas.”

Silence. Then, “This is more than just grieving the death of his father, Sabrina.”

Chloé had been more on edge than ever since her visit with Adrien. Sabrina knew better than to ask the question she already knew the answer to—Chloé thought she was qualified to assess Adrien’s situation because she’d been in a similar one—but Chloé’s unnerved behaviour might just explain why she’d cornered Nino at school the other day. “What did Nino say about it?”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Chloé snapped, finally turning to face her. “He’s useless. He won’t take me seriously.”

Sabrina’s eyes narrowed. “What doesn’t he believe?”

Chloé rolled her eyes. “He thinks I’m _misinterpreting things_. Well, I’m not. But the only villains attacking that day weren’t anywhere near Adrien’s house, so even what he suggested is wrong.”

Sabrina knew Chloé well enough to fill in the blanks. “He thought Gabriel Agreste was the target of an akuma attack?”

Chloé’s hands balled into fists. “He _thinks_ ,” she spat, “that the only reason Adrien thinks he killed his father is because he was akumatized and doesn’t remember what actually happened. But he’s wrong. Adrien wouldn’t be able to feel that hatred. Not like that. And even if he _could_ , things would have been reversed. They’re always reversed. So Nino’s _wrong_.”

Sabrina stared, eyes wide as Chloé’s words echoed in her mind. _Adrien thinks he killed his father._ Chloé hadn’t told her that before. _He killed his father?_ Though she’d never admit it to Chloé, she could understand Nino’s reasoning. The notion sounded ridiculous otherwise. But still. _Killed?_

There had been an investigation. There always was when the death occurred at home. It had been a little less than routine because it had been so high profile, but foul play had still been ruled out very quickly. M. Agreste had died of natural causes. Three separate autopsy reports had come to the same conclusion, the police wanting to be certain before making anything known to the Agreste family—to Adrien, really, but to Nathalie Sancoeur on his behalf—or releasing a public statement. Her father had told her as much in confidence just ahead of the official release. She hadn’t even told Chloé until after it had been released to the public.

But now….

_Adrien thinks he killed his father._

Sabrina knew Nathalie Sancoeur had refused to allow Adrien to be interviewed by the police, citing that he hadn’t been home all day and knew little of his father’s activities in the first place. It wouldn’t do to traumatize him unnecessarily, she’d insisted. She had enough pull to make sure it hadn’t happened, that Adrien had been allowed to grieve in peace. But this was new information. Hearsay, admittedly, but….

But it might mean Adrien knew something.

Or it might just mean he was trying to blame himself for circumstances beyond his control.

“There’s the car Daddy sent,” Chloé announced, getting to her feet. She took the flowers from Sabrina, tossing a snide, “Don’t bother coming over later,” over her shoulder as she walked away.

For once, Sabrina didn’t feel even the slightest twinge of disappointment that Chloé had blown her off again. Instead, she hopped up off the bench and started walking. Even after being promoted to lieutenant, her father patrolled the streets, and she knew his route. She should be able to find him.

When she finally did, after nearly an hour of walking, he was coming off the end of his shift, and she was wondering whether Chloé’s words had any real value to him. But something like this…. She couldn’t keep it a secret. It must matter. She didn’t think Adrien had killed his father, but if he believed it, there must be some reason why. And that reason might be important. If it revealed something the initial investigation had overlooked—

“Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?” She needed to say it before she lost her nerve, and the two of them were as alone as they were going to be standing on the sidewalk a few blocks from the police station. Barely waiting for her father’s verbal confirmation, she blurted out, “There might be more to Monsieur Agreste’s death than you think. I don’t know for sure, but Chloé said—”

“Sabrina,” her dad said gently, crouching to look her in the eye, “think carefully about what you want to tell me. The investigation was straightforward, more a confirmation of what we already knew than anything else. You know it can’t be reopened just because of something Chloé said. It wouldn’t do anybody any good to go digging for something when there’s nothing to find.”

Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea after all. At least, it hadn’t been the best idea to lead with Chloé. Her father might have gotten a promotion out of it, but he didn’t speak fondly of the incident with the bracelet. What he could remember of it, anyway. She knew he was scared that there was still so much time just _missing_. She hadn’t really understood until she’d gone through the same thing herself.

“I know.” She had to pick her words carefully. “It’s not really something Chloé said, though. It’s something Adrien said. For some reason, he thinks…. He thinks he’s responsible for his father’s death.”

Her own father straightened up with a sigh before putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a hug. “It won’t be what it sounds like, Sabrina. You know it isn’t. Adrien is probably feeling guilty for something he had no control over: his father’s busy lifestyle. I’m not home as much as I want to be, either. I’d love to spend more time with you and your mother, but I also love what I’m doing here, too. I may be no Chat Noir or Ladybug, but I help to protect the people in this city, and my job can be dangerous.”

“I know, but—”

“But suppose, just for a moment, that something happened to me. Don’t you think you’d be going back over all the information you had surrounding the incident to find someone to blame, even if it’s an accident, even if there is no one to blame or if all the blame should be shared equally? It’s natural to try to run the what-ifs over and over again, imagining what could have been done to change something, what might have been the very thing to push one particular set of circumstances into place. But you would need to accept that the past can’t be changed and that you aren’t responsible in any way for what happened, and Adrien does, too. And he needs to accept that he doesn’t need to feel guilty.”

It sounded much more logical coming from her dad’s mouth than it had from her own mind, and she felt foolish for suggesting something else. “You’re reminding me that even if he thinks he has a reason to feel guilty, he’s just not being fair to himself.”

“You don’t know enough of the situation to put yourself in his place, but yes, I expect that’s true. For all we know, they had a fight. They might have parted on poor terms. Maybe they intended to apologize later and never had the chance. There’s too much that we don’t know, and we can’t afford to assume anything.”

“I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. Thanks, Dad.” She stretched up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be late for supper. I need to run to a friend’s, but I won’t be long.” She pulled away and waved, calling, “Love you. Thanks again!”

“Love you, too, sweetheart. Have fun at Chloé’s.”

Sabrina gave another wave as she picked up her step and hurried down the street. She wasn’t going to Chloé’s, though she wasn’t surprised that that had been her dad’s assumption. She usually was going to Chloé’s, after all. But sometimes assumptions were wrong. She didn’t have all the facts, and she wanted to gather enough to confirm what seemed to be true so that she felt comfortable leaving it be.

Sometimes that meant sneaking around—she had plenty of practice with everything she had done for Chloé—and sometimes that meant using her head to put things together, working through everything logically. Sometimes it meant hitting the books, and sometimes it meant asking questions.

This time, it meant talking to Alya, who always knew more than she ever published on the Ladyblog even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Sabrina wasn’t exactly the best of friends with Alya, but she still knew where the Ladyblogger lived, and she wasn’t obliged to tell Alya’s little sister exactly which friend had come to call.

As Sabrina had hoped, curiosity brought Alya to the door, and curiosity might be the only thing that kept her from slamming it in Sabrina’s face—although the fact that she wasn’t currently with Chloé probably helped. Alya made it no secret that she wasn’t exactly fond of Chloé, primarily because of how she treated others. It was entirely possible that she couldn’t conceive the real reason Sabrina was Chloé’s friend, since despite what everyone might think, it wasn’t that she was just following the person who seemed to have the most power. She wasn’t looking to avoid Chloé’s bullying or to be able to borrow her stuff, although she would admit the latter was a perk. 

It was because she believed in Chloé.

After all, if Marinette could snub her, too, then that belief—which had wavered only once—wasn’t exactly ludicrous. Given the right set of circumstances, people could change. And maybe Sabrina wasn’t exactly being fair to Marinette, but she wasn’t about to start taking Chloé’s treatment from anyone else. Especially someone who wasn’t normally that way. But she put up with it from Chloé because she wanted to see that change, and she wasn’t sure Chloé would change if she wasn’t there.

“Sabrina? Why are you here?”

Sabrina swallowed. “The Ladyblog. You only add confirmed sightings to your map, right? The one you update daily, I mean. Not the one anyone can add to.”

Alya’s eyes narrowed. “Sightings of Ladybug and Chat Noir or the people they’re trying to stop?”

“Either.” Sabrina bit her lip. “It’s just a hunch. But that last day anyone saw Ladybug and Chat Noir—did you have any unconfirmed sightings? Of anyone noteworthy?”

Alya opened the door wider and stepped out. “Let’s walk,” she said, not giving Sabrina the choice as she started off. Sabrina hurried to catch up, and when she had, Alya said, “Chloé told you what Adrien said.”

Sabrina blinked. “You know?”

“I know it freaked her out.”

So she didn’t know and was just fishing for information. “Fine. I’ll tell you what it was if you answer my question.”

“Deal. You first.”

“How do I know you won’t just back out on me?”

Alya flashed a smile. “Journalistic integrity.” 

Sabrina rolled her eyes but decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting. “It’s probably misinterpreted, but Adrien told her that he killed his father.”

Alya stopped and turned to Sabrina, eyes wide. “What?”

“I doubt it’s what it sounds like.” Her father was right; she shouldn’t have let Chloé lead her to that conclusion. She hadn’t thought it through. But since Paris had been plagued by supervillains, Occam’s razor hadn’t always applied. Logic no longer seemed to make sense when applied to magic—or at least not to her, since she didn’t have all the pieces.

Realization dawned on Alya’s face. “That’s why you want to know if anyone reported any other villains that day. Or if someone thought they saw Ladybug or Chat Noir. You think Adrien might have been controlled, like we had been.” 

“That was Nino’s suggestion. It’s a possibility, but Adrien wasn’t necessarily the one transformed. He might have been coerced by someone, too, or controlled by them.”

A shudder raced up Alya’s spine. “You’re thinking of the Puppeteer.”

“She hasn’t been the only one.” She hadn’t even been the latest one, but considering Alya’s connection with the Puppeteer had been more direct than most, Sabrina couldn’t fault her focus. 

Alya nodded absently. “Yeah, but…. There weren’t any sightings. Not of Chat Noir, anyway. A few people claim they saw Ladybug taking someone home near there, but that would have been after the fight, not before. The timeline doesn’t match up.”

Alya wouldn’t necessarily know that. She didn’t know the estimated time of death; nothing accurate enough for her to make that call, anyway. “When was that?”

Alya shrugged helplessly. “People aren’t always able to blog about it right away, and not everyone thinks to look at the clock. The last report from that area came in around seven that night.”

Unfortunately, that meant Alya was right; nineteen hundred hours was too late, especially if Ladybug had been spotted heading in that direction and not away from it. “Are you sure?”

“It’s still on my blog. I haven’t taken any of the posts down. You can look for yourself. I’ve been more preoccupied with trying to determine which sightings now are real and which are imagined. And which are just copycats.”

Sabrina frowned. “Have there been many?” She hadn’t heard of any, and she thought her father might have mentioned it. Then again, she had been rather preoccupied lately. It could be just one more thing she’d missed.

“Enough.”

“Anything unusual?”

Alya snorted. “What isn’t? Someone might say they’ve seen Ladybug, but no one’s been able to snap a photo of her or a real supervillain. I haven’t seen concrete evidence of anything I know would draw out Ladybug and Chat Noir. I mean, I know I can’t expect to run into every villain there is, but I should be able to hear about it. And a quiet spell this long? _That’s_ unusual.”

Sabrina might not be able to read Alya as well as someone like Marinette, but she’d have to be blind to miss the frustration on the other girl’s face. “You really think they’re gone for good?” She hadn’t thought about that possibility too much—she’d assumed they were facing a lull and was bracing for things to hit hard and fast—but Chloé had mentioned it before, and Sabrina knew it preyed on her mind.

Alya was quiet for a moment. “They might be,” she finally admitted. “I don’t know. I don’t _want_ them to be, not really, but I guess it’s good if we don’t need them anymore. I just….” She shrugged. “There was nothing. No big fight across the city, no final confrontation with Hawk Moth. He never exactly struck me as someone who would just give up, and if he’d won, things would be a lot different for us, wouldn’t they be?”

“Not necessarily. Even if he got what he wanted, now might not be the best time to act on the rest of his plan. And if Ladybug and Chat Noir fought him and won, we wouldn’t necessarily see it, and they aren’t obliged to make a big announcement again. Not like when this all began.”

Alya shot her an annoyed look. “Gee, thanks for giving me something _else_ to worry about.”

Sabrina raised her eyebrows. “You were expecting a big announcement?”

“I wasn’t expecting Hawk Moth to hold off on anything.” Alya stopped, exhaled slowly, and turned to face Sabrina, who had been able to stop before going more than a step farther herself. Trailing after Chloé had given her excellent reflexes and taught her to use her peripheral vision to its fullest potential. “Look,” Alya said, “if Chloé sent you to ask about this, you can tell her that’s all I know for certain, okay?”

Sabrina crossed her arms. “What about what you don’t know for certain?” At Alya’s withering look, she added, “Chloé didn’t send me. I came on my own. She went to drop off more flowers for Adrien.”

Alya stared at Sabrina, but Sabrina had no idea what she was searching for. She put on her most defiant expression and faced the other girl down. No matter what people thought, she wasn’t just Chloé’s lackey. She was Chloé’s friend. There was a difference. 

“Okay. Don’t tell Chloé—and I _mean_ that—but Nino might not be entirely wrong.” Alya held up a hand before Sabrina could do more to open her mouth. “Yeah, I’m guessing, but hear me out. I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that Adrien lost his father that day. Not on top of everything else. I’m just not sure how it’s related.” The way she said the last sentence made it quite clear that she had strong suspicions but wasn’t about to share them.

Sabrina decided to try to draw them out anyway. “But knowing Ladybug was spotted around there gives you enough reason to suspect.”

“It might be a coincidence. I haven’t ruled it out yet.”

“But you don’t think it is.”

“Sabrina, I don’t know for sure.”

“And even if you did, why should you tell me?” Sabrina wasn’t going to back down, not now. “Because I can help. Maybe nothing happened the night Monsieur Agreste passed. But maybe something did. And if it did, Alya, my dad can help. And you must think there’s something there or you would have sent me off already.” She hoped there wasn’t, she really did, but Alya was more likely to sniff out something unusual than her father was, and Sabrina knew she had to keep an open mind.

The idea was absurd. But even if Adrien didn’t kill his father, the belief that he did or at least had had a hand in it— Her gut told her that part was true, that it wasn’t just guilt or regret speaking. And she trusted her instincts. Adrien fully believed he was in some way responsible for the death of his father, even if he never admitted it to anyone else again. Admitting it to Chloé would be enough.

Chloé was Adrien’s friend, too, and Sabrina knew she wouldn’t give up on him, especially not if she thought he needed help. Chloé might make a big show of not caring about some things, but she’d never put on that pretense with Adrien. 

Alya sighed. “I don’t want to get into this. Feel free to look at what’s on the blog, but I’m not getting involved in this right now.”

“You mean you’re going to keep digging on your own before you’re satisfied.”

Alya smirked. “Okay, guilty. So I’m predictable. But Nino hadn’t told me what you did, about what Adrien said, and even if it’s misconstrued, that’s big. I don’t want to mess this up. He’s my friend.”

Sabrina snorted. “It’s Adrien. He’s not exactly anyone’s enemy.” He was one of the nicest people she’d ever met, something which had shattered her expectations of him despite what Chloé had said before she’d ever met him.

“True,” Alya agreed, “but he might be his own.” She turned, added, “Bye, Sabrina,” and began to walk back to her house.

Sabrina pursed her lips but didn’t follow. She might not have Alya’s support now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get it later. She might not even need it; she might be able to piece together enough of the truth between talking to Chloé again and taking a closer look at the Ladyblog. Still, if Alya wasn’t going to help, then Sabrina wasn’t going to do anything drastic before she spoke with Chloé. She would try to figure things out on her own, but the moment she was ready to act, she’d call in Chloé for support.

Chloé might take the credit in the end, but that was all right. If she needed to talk to Adrien, it would be easier to have Chloé there, too. She’d certainly need Chloé if she tried to bring the matter up to Nathalie Sancoeur. Neither Adrien nor Nathalie had much reason to listen to her, but Chloé was different. She had power, and she’d experienced grief in a way Sabrina never had.

There was a possibility that all of this would come to nothing. Sabrina knew that. But she also knew she wasn’t prepared to leave someone alone in Adrien’s state of mind. Perhaps she should take Adrien’s words with a grain of salt, but there was a grain of truth in fable, too. It wasn’t worth the risk of inaction.

Besides, Chloé needed this, too.

Entertaining the very idea of Adrien having a hand in his father’s death was tearing her apart. Sabrina could see that. Even if Adrien hadn’t meant it, he’d burdened her with his words.

“I’ll help you,” Sabrina whispered fiercely as she started home. “I’ll help both of you.” Even if it was just sharing that burden, she’d help. Somehow. She had to.

For her friends.


	10. Part X: Nathalie

Nathalie had grown used to silence in the Agreste manor long ago, even before the untimely death of its most famed occupant, and to have that silence so suddenly disturbed now was disconcerting. None of the various alarms were going off, but the sound of breaking glass had been unmistakeable. 

Nathalie walked swiftly to Adrien’s room and knocked on the door. There was no response. She let herself in, carefully stepping over crystal shards, pooling water, and wilting flowers to reach the shaking boy beyond them. “Adrien?”

He looked horrified, eyes wide and beginning to glisten with tears. As she watched, trembling arms folded protectively over his chest and he hunched down against the couch, keeping his feet clear of both crystal and water. “I…I….” Ragged breathing only accelerated as she neared. “I didn’t mean….”

“Adrien.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, steadying her resolve even as he flinched away. He shouldn’t have reason to fear her, and he had never shied from her touch before. She wished he didn’t think he had reason to now. “The flowers are unimportant.”

“But the vase—”

Had been priceless. And, as things were now, was unimportant. She tightened her grip, trying to steady the quaking shoulder beneath her hand. “It was only a vase.”

He was shaking his head. “It’s Father’s.” Then, before she had a chance to speak, the pained correction: “It was Father’s.”

“And sometimes things get broken. Your father would understand.”

Adrien didn’t seem convinced, but he allowed her to help him to his feet. She led him around so that they could sit together on the couch. She waited. Eventually, the trembling was replaced by fidgeting; he began twisting his hands together and knotting his fingers before pulling them free again so he could start over.

Eventually, he rewarded her patience. “I dropped it,” he said in a small voice.

He should have had no reason to pick the vase up in the first place; she had made quite sure that it had been placed somewhere he could see it without it getting in his way. As much as she loathed taking orders from a child, she had seen nothing wrong with Chloé’s insistence that the flowers be displayed in Adrien’s room. She had hoped they might serve as a sign to remind him that there was a world outside his bedroom and that it was a world well worth living in, even if that living was sometimes painful.

She had chosen the vase for the very reason Adrien had mentioned; it had been his father’s, one that had been displayed in his study and typically filled as a tribute to Adrien’s mother. Nathalie had hoped it would serve as a sign that he could keep alive the memory of his father, the memory of happier times. Instead, hardly ten minutes since the gift had arrived, her efforts had been rewarded with splattered water, cracked crystal, and dying flowers.

She should really clean up the mess before the water damaged the floor, but that didn’t matter right now. Floors could be replaced, and she couldn’t afford to let this moment slip away.

“I…I read the card,” Adrien admitted. “It surprised me.”

Nathalie had not read the card, but she would have guessed that it had angered him more than surprised him, even if he clearly regretted his actions now. “Adrien,” she said again, “you could have thrown the vase at the door and it would still not be the reason I want to talk to you.”

The flash of guilt that crossed his face made her wonder if her hunch had been right, but in truth it didn’t matter. What mattered was the broken boy in front of her, the one who was desperately trying to hold it together and fighting a losing battle.

“I am not your mother, Adrien. I can never replace her or your father, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. Are you ready to talk to me now?”

A small shake of the head. Adrien avoided her gaze, but his fingers had stilled. He was wary.

He didn’t trust her.

“Are you sure? The vase suggests you might have something to say.”

“I don’t.”

Nathalie took a slow breath and considered her next words carefully. “Then are you willing to listen?”

She saw the frown before he was able to smooth out his face. “Of course.”

“I know this is hard,” Nathalie began. “When something happens suddenly like this, you’re left with more questions than answers, and it can feel like there are more regrets than happy memories. But even if it seems no one can understand your situation, for their experiences are not yours, it does not mean you need to hold everything in and find your way forward by yourself.” She smiled at him. “It’s all right to be not okay. I don’t expect you to be fine. I would never ask you to pretend to be well when you aren’t. I would ask that you answer me honestly, however, when I do ask you how you are doing each day.”

“But it never changes.” The words were barely audible, breathed more than spoken.

She took his hand and squeezed it; thankfully, this time he did not jolt away at her touch. “The days may not be good. They may not be good for a long time yet, but I imagine some are not quite as bad as others, while some are much worse than the day before or the day after. It may not even be days. It may be moments. That’s okay.” Another squeeze. “It hurts. I know that. It’s all right that it hurts. It’s also all right to share some of that pain with me. I will never be able to understand a fraction of what you are going through if you do not talk to me, and my attempts to help you through this will fail even more miserably than they already have.”

Silence. Then, “He shouldn’t be gone.”

“I know. But he is, and that’s why I’m trying my best to be here for you.”

“You don’t know.” Adrien tore his hand from her grip. “You don’t know anything. He shouldn’t be gone. They shouldn’t both be—” His voice caught, and the tears finally began.

She was glad of that, really. He needed to cry. She hugged him, and though he initially stiffened, he relaxed and let her hold him. “You aren’t alone,” she whispered into his hair. “I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. There isn’t one person in this household who doesn’t love you for who you are, Adrien, but we don’t want to lose you, too. You can’t isolate yourself forever.” 

He had never told her as much, but she was sure he felt overwhelmed. Shock and numbness had gotten him through the visitation and the funeral, through the faceless flood of business associates and sponsors, the glut of colleagues and staff and friends. When his friends had begun dropping by, she’d seen how much each visit had taken out of him. She’d thought he wouldn’t have the heart to turn them away when he was too exhausted to see them, so she’d done her best to do it for him. She didn’t regret the few exceptions she’d made, but she didn’t regret her policy, either. There was a time to entertain the entire class, but now was not it.

If Adrien was truly ready to see everyone, he would not insist on shutting himself away, even from her.

Adrien mumbled something, but all she caught was _don’t deserve_. He didn’t deserve to be put in this situation—no one did—but he _did_ deserve their love, and she told him so. He made more sounds of denial, confirming that her guess had been correct, and she cut him off. “We have watched you grow into a brilliant young man, Adrien. Do not sell yourself short. You are good and you are kind, and you most certainly should not think of yourself as unloved because you would be lying to yourself. Your parents loved you, but their love is not gone. It lives on within you, and our love for you will help to feed it and keep it alive. We may not be flesh and blood, but we are family, Adrien. No one in this house would deny that. Even if someone tries, know that I love you, and I do not say those words lightly.”

“You don’t want to be my family. I destroy my family.” Adrien’s words were spoken with a quiet finality that made his conviction of them clear, not a bare whisper in which she might be able to find doubt. It was a terrible thing to hear from someone so young, a terrible thing for _anyone_ to be certain of. 

“Family isn’t so fragile that it can be broken with a mere touch,” Nathalie reminded him, not sure what in her words made him stiffen. “It is more resilient than that vase. A misstep here or there will not destroy the relationship we have, not when there is no true poison in our actions or words. You will not destroy it. You will not destroy _us_.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I _do_ know that. I know that as surely as I know that I want to be a part of your family.” She used one hand to cup his chin and turn his face up towards her. “Adrien,” she said softly, “do you think I’m lying to you?”

He didn’t answer. She let her hand fall away and didn’t try to stop him from pulling back. She couldn’t insist that she hadn’t lied to him before. She had. She hadn’t always done what was right, and she hadn’t done what was best for him or best for his friends, favouring the idea of saving her own skin more than once. But she was trying to be better. Adrien deserved better, no matter what he might think.

Adrien’s head finally dropped again, his eyes focused on his fingers once more, and she shifted in her seat so that she was addressing the window rather than him. It would be easier to say some of this when she didn’t have to face him. “Your father liked to plan. With your mother gone, he knew he needed something in place to make things easier for you in case anything ever happened to him. It was only last year, but he asked if I would be willing to act as your guardian, and I said yes. I didn’t agree because I feared I’d lose my job otherwise. I agreed because I’d already grown to love you. You were no longer just my charge, Adrien. You were my family, even before it became official.”

Heavy silence, thick and uncomfortable not because of its awkwardness but because she could read Adrien’s unspoken denials even when looking at him from the corner of her eye. She let the silence stretch, hoping he’d realize the truth of her words, that something would reach him. Instead, she saw a slight shift in his expression as he became more closed off from her. It was the last thing she wanted, and it hurt.

He still wasn’t happy with the arrangement, didn’t understand why all this had been settled without his input.

She’d never realized that Gabriel hadn’t asked his opinion, let alone never informed him.

“I’m not going to turn your life upside down, Adrien. I want to help you right it. It won’t be normal. I can’t promise you normal. But I can promise that I will try to do what’s best for you, even if that requires me to make sacrifices, because I will happily do that to help you succeed or be happy.”

Nothing.

“If you don’t wish to return to school right away, I’ll apply to have you homeschooled again—I’m sure it won’t be an issue—but I would encourage you to be with your friends. They no doubt miss you, and I’ve seen how happy you are with them. You should consider going back. You needn’t pick up with the rest of your lessons; it may be best to ease yourself back into things, but it’s your decision.”

“I can’t do this, Nathalie.” The admission was quiet, but at least he was looking at her.

She turned to face him. “You can. It will be hard, but you’re strong, and you aren’t alone.” Her lips twitched into a small smile. “I know it feels like the world should stop turning, but it doesn’t. You’ve been knocked off your feet, but there are plenty of people wanting to help you back up. I’m only one of them.”

“But you don’t….” Adrien shivered and trailed off, not finishing his sentence even though she waited.

“But I don’t understand?” she guessed. “I don’t know what it feels like? Your situation is different than mine ever was, Adrien, but I’ve lost both of my parents. I know what it is like to grieve, if not what it is like to be in your precise situation.”

Adrien swallowed. “That’s not….” He took a shaky gulp of air as she watched, and another, and she realized he was trying to steady his breathing. He was trying not to cry. “It’s still different, Nathalie. It’s not just grief. It’s…it’s just _too much_ right now, and I….” He shook his head. “I can’t do this right now. I need time to sort things out.”

Nathalie took his hand again. “You do need time,” she agreed. “Time to process and reassess and learn to live again, but you will also benefit by talking to someone. Please, talk to your friends if you don’t want to talk to me, but know that I will always listen if you have something to say. It doesn’t even need to be words. We can just sit together if you like. I want you to come to me with anything concerning you, Adrien, no matter the time, no matter how busy you think I am, no matter how much you think it doesn’t concern me or how much you think you shouldn’t be troubling me with it.”

“I know. You’ve said. But—”

“But I’m not going to ask you to forget,” Nathalie interrupted, “and I’m not going to ask you to remember. I’m asking that you bear in mind that I am always here for you if you need help as you’re trying to find your way forward.”

He still looked so hesitant, so withdrawn, so _broken_ , that she was sure she hadn’t yet earned his trust again. She did not know how much she had lost or how much she had never had to begin with. She wasn’t sure how best to earn that trust with Adrien. For someone who had spent so much of his life in the public eye, he was a very private person.

And very adept at wearing masks.

He was his father’s son. There was no question about that. But although it had taken her years, she _had_ earned Gabriel’s trust—or at least a large measure of it. He would never have entrusted her with Adrien’s wellbeing otherwise. His wife and his son had always been invaluable to him, worth more to him than any prized possession. His wife had helped him to find himself and shown him a side of the world he would have never examined otherwise; he had bloomed under her care. His son had given him yet another perspective on life and a strong reason to keep living it, and she knew Gabriel had always tried to do what was best for Adrien; he simply hadn’t known how.

She wasn’t sure she knew, either, but she was prepared to try, and she was prepared to listen, which all too often Gabriel had not been.

“Join me for supper tonight,” Nathalie suggested once it became clear Adrien wasn’t going to say anything. “It’s a small, simple thing, but it’ll get you out of your room.”

Adrien pulled his hand away from hers. “Not tonight,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Maybe tomorrow.”

How long was she meant to step back in an attempt to respect his privacy? This much time alone, after what he had suffered, surely wasn’t healthy. He had done so well with the companionship of his friends once he had started school; she didn’t want him to suffocate in silence now, drowning in grief and guilt when there was a ready lifeline for him if he would only take it.

“Please think about it,” she said. She didn’t intend to tell him how much it would mean to her; she didn’t want to add that pressure to him right now, didn’t want him to think that not coming was going to disappoint her. She wanted him to come, but she wanted him to come because he wished it, not because he didn’t want to let her down.

“I will.”

She didn’t want the conversation to end, but despite Adrien’s whispered promise, the way he’d turned slightly away told her she had said enough for now. Nathalie stood and smoothed her skirt. “I’ll see that that mess is cleaned up,” she said with a nod at the remains of the vase.

“Don’t bother. I can do it. Really,” added Adrien, perhaps catching her skeptical look. “It’ll be good for me. Give me something to do.”

It sounded like he was trying to tell her what he thought she wanted to hear, but if she was to earn his trust, she would need to put more trust in him first. “If that is what you wish. I’ll find you some supplies.” She crossed the room and turned back at the door. “Thank you, Adrien. For listening.”

She saw him nod in acknowledgement but heard nothing back from him, his attention caught on the shattered crystal once more. She wondered what about it so unnerved him. She was sure it wasn’t the vase, not really. She herself treasured the few possessions she had which had been particularly dear to her parents. But Adrien still offered no explanation—his comment about the card hardly made sense when the flowers were from Chloé—and she had no need to dally and wait for one now. With one last calculating survey of the mess, she stepped out into the hallway.

Nathalie stood outside the closed door, taking a moment to compose herself. It seemed easier to breathe out here, as tension she hadn’t realized had built up drained away. Perhaps Adrien had felt the same; perhaps that was why he didn’t wish to speak to her. But if that were the case, then she should go back in there and try to clear a few more things up. He surely still had questions. If she gave him the chance to ask….

No. Going back wouldn’t help either of them right now. If he chose to come to supper, she could give him every opportunity to ask then. If he didn’t, she’d find another way to do that. She hated how disorganized all of this made her feel, how it seemed to remind her of everything she had yet to do and everything she had seemingly done wrong already, but she knew that her emotions weren’t entirely under control, either.

Gabriel had only been her employer, their relationship always more professional than casual despite what he had asked of her, but she’d known him well, and somehow….

Somehow, she hadn’t prepared herself for this possibility.

And his absence left a hole that wasn’t easily closed over.

Like she’d told Adrien, it was hard, but she could hardly expect Adrien to move forward if she herself did not. 

Nathalie blinked back tears, took a deep breath, and tore her thoughts away from that line of thinking. She was about to step away from the door when she heard Adrien whisper an apology. It was too quiet for him to be speaking with one of his friends on the phone, as much as she might wish that to be the case as she wasn’t sure he’d had a long conversation with anyone who hadn’t made a point of dropping by—sometimes repeatedly—to visit. It occurred to her that the apology might be another whispered to his father, but Gabriel had never encouraged such shows of sentiment, so she thought it was intended for her. 

She’d turned back and had her hand on the doorknob when she heard the response.

“I wasn’t hurt. Who sent the flowers?”

Adrien barked something that might have been a laugh, but it could just as easily have been a sob. “Apparently, Chat Noir.”

Nathalie held her breath, straining to hear the other voice, not entirely convinced she hadn’t imagined it despite Adrien’s reply. Then, finally, “It wasn’t your fault.” It sounded too clear to be a voice on the phone, too close, yet she’d never heard it before. Adrien’s closest male friend was Nino, but she knew everyone in his class. She knew everyone on every team or in every club in which Adrien participated. She’d made it her job to be able to recognize them easily. This was not someone she knew.

The comment must have made sense to Adrien, though his response didn’t make things any clearer to her. “Maybe it’s a good thing the ring is gone, Plagg. I don’t need it. Not when I still have you.”

_Who is Plagg?_ There wasn’t another person in Adrien’s room; there couldn’t be. He had had no visitors today, certainly no one named Plagg, and she sincerely doubted anyone could breach their security without being seen even if they were adept at scaling walls. A video call, perhaps? The lack of audio distortion was easily explained by the quality of Adrien’s equipment, but somehow…. Somehow she doubted that explanation, too.

And then there was the matter of the ring. She had noticed that Adrien hadn’t been wearing his ring, but she’d heard nothing of it being lost. Nothing of it being _gone_. 

Of course, Adrien didn’t speak with her about such things.

Nathalie knew that she should slip away, that eavesdropping now was hardly a way to gain Adrien’s trust, but surely a moment longer wouldn’t hurt. Not when weighed against the fact that it might help her understand.

“You know this isn’t the way things are meant to be.” There was a note of reproach in Plagg’s voice, and Nathalie was struck with the sudden conviction that this _Plagg_ , whoever he was, was not someone who should be overlooked—as she had clearly done. He possessed more wisdom than any teenager of Adrien’s ilk, though she had no idea how often he let it shine through.

“No,” Adrien agreed softly, “but it’s the way things are now, and I don’t want that to change. Not until it has to. And it doesn’t have to yet, right?” The hopeful note in Adrien’s voice made Nathalie’s chest tighten in sympathy; Adrien wouldn’t have asked if he knew things could stay this way for long. He knew the end was coming; he simply didn’t know when. “I can’t lose you too, Plagg. Not now. Not after everything.”

Plagg meant more to Adrien than she did. She should not be surprised. She had done little overtly to endear herself to him, but she had hoped a few more of the small things, of the subtle things, would add up. Perhaps he had never realized. Perhaps he had attributed her actions to someone else or to something as obscure as luck. But to think Adrien trusted this Plagg more than he did her stung when Plagg wasn’t even a boy she knew, not just because she didn’t have Adrien’s trust but because she was realizing she shouldn’t have it when she didn’t even know about his friendship with this other boy.

She certainly had no right to it when she was listening to his private conversation like this.

“I’m going to stay as long as I can. You know I’d never abandon you.”

“But sometime you’ll have to move on.”

She didn’t understand this. She had more questions than answers now. If she just looked in to at least _see_ who Plagg was—

“Sometime I’ll be needed somewhere else.” Plagg’s words sounded careful, cautious, measured in a way she couldn’t comprehend. There was a meaning beneath the words, beneath their entire conversation, and she was missing the key that would allow her to decipher it all. “Just like I was needed here with you.”

“But because you’re bound to the ring, you’ll have to follow it.” Adrien sounded sure of his words. “So, maybe, if we can find the ring, and I keep it, you’ll be able to stay?”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

“It did for him!”

Nathalie took an involuntary step backwards at Adrien’s outburst, and silence reigned within the room. She held her breath, not sure if her presence had been discovered. She had expected Plagg to deny Adrien’s accusation, but she heard nothing from him. She could hear nothing but the beating of her own heart and the distant tick of a clock.

The seconds seemed to stretch before Adrien continued, his voice quieter again. “It did, didn’t it? That’s why he could do everything. And that’s why we didn’t know until…until….”

“You aren’t your father, Adrien.”

Silence. It would have been easy to interpret had she been able to see Adrien’s face. She’d grown quite adept at reading him. She could guess at his feelings now, but she wasn’t convinced she could follow the conversation well enough to do that. In all honesty, she felt completely lost.

Perhaps this was what parenthood felt like; perhaps the next few years would always be a mad scramble to try to do what was right and what was necessary, always second-guessing her choices and making hard decisions. Perhaps she ought to get used to this secrecy. That part at least shouldn’t be hard, given how secretive Gabriel had been.

He’d held more secrets than she’d ever guessed, if she was following that part of the conversation correctly. She wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but if it affected Adrien and this Plagg—

“I’m bound to the Ring,” Plagg confirmed, repeating one of the parts of their conversation that made no sense at all. How could someone be bound to a ring? That sounded like something out of fairy tales, a genie bound to a lamp. What did it really mean, that the ring had never been Adrien’s but Plagg’s all along, and that it represented _something_ that Adrien was no longer meant to be part of? The boy had had habit of disappearing, of missing scheduled appointments despite numerous reminders, but she’d seen firsthand how much the attacks on Paris disrupted everyday life. Had Adrien just been using the attacks as an excuse, as a cover, for something else?

What if it was dangerous? Was it still going on? Was that why Plagg had to speak with Adrien now?

She hoped not. She wanted Adrien to be safe. She didn’t like all this talk of being bound to something. It was unsettling.

“There’s risk in staying with you now instead of following it,” Plagg continued, still talking about the ring (his ring? Adrien’s?), “but I’m taking that risk for you. Because you aren’t like your father. You won’t make the same decisions he did.”

Nathalie could still recite Gabriel’s schedule from memory, despite its numerous deviations, and she had no idea when he would have had time to get involved in something as complex as this sounded. But perhaps Plagg was simply making an unfair comparison to skew the facts in his favour in an attempt to win over Adrien. She wasn’t sure yet. She didn’t know if Plagg wanted something out of him.

She didn’t know if she could stop it if he did.

“You don’t know that,” countered Adrien.

“I know you. You’re my friend. Aren’t I yours?”

“Of course, but—”

“Would you ever really rob me of my freedom and keep me a prisoner, knowing full well what you were doing?”

“I…I don’t…. Plagg, I didn’t mean—”

“Answer me.” The insistence in Plagg’s voice was fierce, fueled by more than just the determination to make a point. “Would you keep your friends as prisoners?”

“No! It’s just that—”

“The rest doesn’t matter. Not really. Yes, you’d miss me if I had to go, but if I had to go, you’d let me. Because you are better than your father. Because you aren’t going to let desperation drive your actions. Because you won’t let horrible means be justified by the ends. Because you won’t twist love into something it’s not, spinning it into obsession but still using the first as an excuse. You wouldn’t, Adrien. Not for me.”

“But I’d be tempted.” Adrien’s voice was small, the admission slow in coming. Nathalie barely heard it at all. “I don’t know that I wouldn’t do it, not really. And you couldn’t stop me if I did, could you?”

“No, but I wouldn’t need to stop you. You’d stop yourself. That’s the sort of person you are. You were chosen for a reason, and that choice wasn’t a mistake. Believe in that even if you don’t want to believe in yourself right now. And maybe get me some camembert. I’m hungry.”

Nathalie heard Adrien’s broken laugh, a more genuine one than earlier, and used it as an opportunity to slip away. She didn’t understand what she’d heard, not yet. She wasn’t sure the ring they spoke of was Adrien’s ring after all, not if this Plagg had something to do with it. Even knowing that didn’t help her, though. She still had no idea who he was or how he’d met Adrien. She didn’t know what he meant when he spoke of Adrien being chosen. Chosen for what? What could she do if he was in some sort of danger when this was the first she’d heard of it all? What had prompted the talk of keeping people prisoner?

And what did Gabriel have to do with all of this?

Plagg certainly hadn’t sounded like he’d been fond of the man, but not everyone had been. That was no surprise. He had been an excellent businessman, garnering the envy of more than a few, and with his cool and calculating exterior, he had allowed his interpersonal relationships to suffer. It had only grown worse with Adrien’s mother gone; no one would have ever thought to describe Gabriel as personable after that. But the implication that he’d kept people prisoner was absurd.

Well.

Mostly.

She had met the occasional unhappy employee who didn’t want to leave the company for fear of retribution, giving Gabriel’s considerable power within the industry, but she’d always managed to sort something out to a satisfactory end. It was a stretch to call such people prisoners, particularly given all she had done for them and the fact that they really had been free to go, but maybe Plagg was prone to exaggeration.

She really would need to find out more about him if she was to make her judgement. She had no doubt now that he had been in the room, so he had at least been skilled enough to sneak past all their security. Perhaps he was a computer genius like Adrien’s friend Max; she’d have to have someone check their systems to make sure everything was functioning correctly and hadn’t been disrupted.

Unfortunately, she suspected this Plagg might be good enough that she’d never find out the truth unless she confronted Adrien about it directly.

Admitting to her transgression would not be easy, but there might not be any other way.

She’d have to think on it. Whatever her decision, it was certainly not something to rush into without planning or careful examination of what she already knew. But before she had time for that, she needed to see about getting that mess clean before someone—Adrien _or_ this Plagg—accidentally got cut; it would be easy enough to see that Adrien got his hands on the proper supplies, and she could walk by frequently to reassure herself that everything was going well. And if Adrien didn’t join her for dinner tonight, she’d ask him again to join her tomorrow. And maybe by then, she’d have a plan of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who’s been reading and especially those who have taken the time to leave a comment. I’m not sure whose perspective you’ll see next; anyone have a preference? I can’t guarantee that I’ll honour your request, but I’ll certainly keep it in mind. Personally, I’m thinking now’s the time to start repeating characters, though I’m not yet sure in which order.


	11. Part XI: The Gorilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay on this chapter; feel free to review/PM me if it’s been a while—sometimes I really just need a nudge—or drop me a note on tumblr [@ladylynse](https://ladylynse.tumblr.com/) if you like. This POV was written by request; enjoy!

Adrien thought no one knew he called his driver the Gorilla, but the truth of the matter was that everyone but M. Agreste called him that. It had become something of a household joke, but he didn’t mind being the butt of it. The head cook had a nickname for everyone anyway, and he thought it a sight better than the Rod.

The younger staff didn’t know how Nathalie had earned her nickname—the stories surrounding it abounded, each crazier than the last as they were retold uncorrected—and Nathalie’s nickname had certainly been earned, not given. Very few knew the truth, but shortly after her appointment, Nathalie had gotten into an argument with Cookie over how M. Agreste would take his dinner, and the head cook had shown Nathalie the other side of her wooden baking spoon. 

They respected each other now, but it had been months before Nathalie would step foot in Cookie’s kitchen again, and Cookie got her revenge with Nathalie’s nickname—though Cookie still joked, privately, that Nathalie could’ve been called _Broken Spoon_ , always claiming she’d decided against it because it wouldn’t have been as good a name, not because she respected how well Nathalie had taken the whole thing.

The last assistant hadn’t handled it nearly as well. Nathalie had been a good replacement. Most people just didn’t use her nickname to her face because she was too likely to be in earshot of M. Agreste, and they’d fallen out of the habit.

And Nathalie had never encouraged it, not like he had.

He liked his nickname, though. Gorillas were smart. He was, even if he didn’t always come off that way. You learned a lot when you watched and listened instead of opening your mouth at every opportunity. People underestimated you, too, and if you always stood there silently, waiting, never questioning, well…. They’d forget about you sometimes. Not notice you there.

That was why he knew about Plagg.

He didn’t know the details, no. He’d never actually seen this Plagg. But he’d heard Adrien whisper his name, and he’d heard the voice—Plagg’s voice—answer back. He had overheard entire conversations spoken in hushed tones, ignoring the furtive glances occasionally sent his way.

So, it was a little bit satisfying to see Nathalie—who was a know-it-all whether or not she’d admit it—nearly going to pieces, trying to figure out who Plagg was without directly asking anyone. He’d seen her slip the name into casual conversation with no fewer than eight different staff members, hoping to get a reaction.

She still hadn’t approached him, which was a bit disappointing as they’d collaborated before and he thought he’d be a logical choice, but she had taken to avoiding him since she hadn’t been able to coax Adrien from his room. He thought she didn’t like him asking if it was time to take the young Agreste for a drive. She didn’t like being reminded of what she viewed as an ongoing failure on her part.

He was watching Nathalie’s latest failure with the sous-chef from the safety of the dining area reserved for the staff, an area he’d used more often lately since he couldn’t even leave a bit early to grab a bite to eat from a boulangerie before picking up Adrien and ferrying him to his next appointment. He’d been over each of the cars a dozen times by now, too, and made a run for anything he could think of that wasn’t already stockpiled in the back. He was running out of reasons to come to his job if Adrien decided he had no need for him.

Fortunately, Nathalie—who was currently paying his salary as well as everyone else’s—understood the situation; there was only so much fiddling with the vehicles he could do and still be ready to run them at a moment’s notice. And it was really the way she had stepped up to handle this situation—so expertly and with so much compassion, even if she didn’t necessarily show it all the time—that made him decide to give her a break. 

The fact that she wouldn’t notice that at first would just be a little bit more payback for avoiding him.

True to recent form, Nathalie ducked out of the room the moment she saw him approaching the kitchen with his empty plate. He dropped his plate in a sink full of soapy water with a nod of thanks at Cookie before following Nathalie out. She hadn’t quite managed to turn the corner to get to the atrium before he caught her.

“He still doesn’t want to leave,” she said without meeting his eye. “I don’t want to push it, not right now. This is hard on all of us, but more so on him.”

The Gorilla just looked at her.

Nathalie deflated. “All right, you can go and talk to him. See if you can coax him outside for some fresh air. I just don’t think any of us will be able to do it if his friends can’t.”

He waited.

“I think they’ve all been by,” Nathalie said idly. “Chloé, of course, multiple times. Marinette as well, and Nino, and Plagg—nearly all his class, I expect, and a few friends from his other activities.” She was watching him carefully now, but he didn’t even blink. “I turned some of them away, of course—Alix and Kim and Max all wanted to come on the same day, before Adrien was even speaking to any of us, and I simply didn’t feel he was ready to be bombarded with that much _energy_.”

It was time to throw her a bone. He cleared his throat. “You’re doing good work.” She allowed a tired smile to grace her face, and he added, “Marinette should know more about Plagg.” The shock transformed Nathalie’s face in an instant, but he had already turned on his heel with a wave of his hand in farewell. Nathalie could investigate. She liked investigating.

She might discover that he was wrong, but he didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure how much Marinette would know, but chances were very good she knew something. 

He’d caught her doing the same thing as Adrien, after all, and that wasn’t likely to be a coincidence.

Not unless the same company that made talking purses also made talking pockets.

Maybe he was just tilting at windmills, but neither Marinette nor Adrien would act so secretive if what they were doing was perfectly normal, and he had his own ideas about what they were really up to. He certainly wasn’t about to share his observations with anyone else, not when he wasn’t completely sure of them, but he had been compiling lists of coincidences that seemed a bit too unlikely to merely be coincidences—particularly when taken collectively.

He was content to leave it at that for now. Nathalie clearly thought the mysterious Plagg was important, but she would think that if she hadn’t known of him before. He would rather focus on the young master of the house.

It didn’t take long to reach Adrien’s bedroom, and he knocked three times before stepping back to listen for signs of life.

After a moment, he knocked again.

Waited.

Knocked.

Waited.

Knocked.

This time, Adrien opened the door, though not immediately. He looked exhausted—even his shoulders were slouched, something the Gorilla had not seen in a very long time—and he hadn’t made more than a cursory attempt at brushing his hair or finding clothes that didn’t look like he’d slept in them. It was no wonder that Nathalie was nearly at the end of her rope. Adrien needed to get out.

More importantly, he needed a _reason_ to get out.

The Gorilla knew Nathalie was trying to encourage him without pushing him, but he also knew Adrien hadn’t agreed to anything so far. He hadn’t agreed to go back to school, hadn’t decided to throw himself into any of his lessons, hadn’t even been able to drag himself down to the dining hall. Nathalie might not have told him about her invitation to Adrien, but Cookie had.

Cookie had also told him she was worried because Adrien was still only picking at the food she had sent to his room. The only thing that seemed to reliably disappear was cheese, and she’d begun giving him a more generous portion of it, but if Adrien wasn’t sleeping, was barely eating, and refused to go out?

It was hardly the sort of situation anyone in their right mind would approve of.

“I’m sorry,” Adrien murmured, “but I don’t want to go out today.”

He tried to close the door, but the Gorilla put his foot out to stop it.

Adrien, hanging on the door, looked down at the foot caught in the jamb and then back up at him. “Please, I know Nathalie wants me to go, but I…. I just can’t right now. Maybe tomorrow.”

The Gorilla shifted his facial expression just enough to convey his doubt of that—a slight rise of his eyebrows, held only long enough for Adrien to notice. 

The boy’s expression crumbled. “Okay, not tomorrow. I don’t think I can do tomorrow either. I just don’t feel like going anywhere right now.”

To his knowledge, Adrien had not left his room since the funeral, and hardly very often before that. He’d only gone out when he’d needed to. Otherwise, he’d worked very hard at isolating himself in his room. He allowed visitors, though only if they came to him; it was incredibly rare for him to actively turn someone away, even if he would sometimes drag his feet when it came to answering his door in the vain hope that his visitors would go away of their own accord.

But if Nathalie had overheard him talking to Plagg, then at least he still had Plagg. At least he would still talk to Plagg. It might not do the rest of them any good, but it was better than having Adrien completely cut off from everyone.

He hoped it was, anyway.

Though the Gorilla hadn’t moved, Adrien opened his bedroom door and stepped back, allowing him entrance. He took the invitation for what it was and trailed Adrien as the boy moved to the couch. He dropped down, but the Gorilla decided to stand. A quick survey of the room revealed that everything was as Nathalie regularly reported, and nothing seemed to suggest the presence of anyone other than Adrien.

“I’m not hiding in here,” Adrien said, as if he knew exactly what the Gorilla had been thinking. “I’m just….” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s better if I stay here for a while.”

Adrien had already stayed in here for a while—quite long enough, if he were to actually ask any of the staff—but Nathalie was the only one who felt she really had the power to push it, and she was too tentative with her new position. She didn’t want to destroy the situation before it had a chance to settle. She didn’t want to accidentally push Adrien away from all of them or down a path he might not otherwise go.

She’d forgotten the power of the rod, how it was sometimes necessary to nudge someone back into a routine when they were reluctant to go on their own. Adrien _needed_ to be pushed; he wasn’t likely to go on his own, and routine—normality—was what he needed right now. She was allowing him to wallow, not realizing she was allowing him to drown.

Adrien must have seen some of the thoughts crossing his face, for the boy was quick to make his excuses. “Not forever. I don’t mean forever. A little longer, that’s all. It wouldn’t do to tarnish Father’s image.” He said this in a very matter-of-fact tone, and the Gorilla didn’t buy it for a minute.

True, while he thought it a terrible excuse, it was not one without merit. No one would fault the boy if he broke down in public—they would all probably be more surprised if he didn’t—but M. Agerste had held his son to high standards, put pressures on his shoulders that had seemed designed to wear him down. Adrien had managed the burdens well, dealt with fans and reporters and classmates alike all spectacularly, but it was not unreasonable for him to believe his father would disapprove of him crying in public, even when he had every right to grieve. It had certainly never been deemed acceptable in the wake of his mother’s loss.

“I don’t want to disappoint him,” Adrien added, his voice a whisper now. “I…I don’t understand everything, but I can’t….” This time, his voice cracked with real emotion. “I’m not sure he was proud of me. I need to figure out how I’d be able to make him proud. I owe him that much, after…after what I did. After everything.”

M. Agreste _had_ been proud of Adrien. They all knew that, even if he had expressed his disappointment more often than his pride. But Nathalie had no doubt had some version of this conversation with Adrien already, and if he didn’t believe her, Adrien certainly wouldn’t believe him. After all, he’d arguably had less interaction with the former head of the house. But if he wouldn’t leave his room, it would be hard to show him that his father had been proud of him, too.

Which really meant, again, that Adrien needed to leave, even if it was only for a short while.

The Gorilla offered his hand. It was an invitation to get out as much as it was an invitation to get up. As he had expected, Adrien shook his head. Even better, he did what most people did when faced with silence: he tried to fill it. “No, not right now. I can’t. I know you might not agree with me, but you don’t know everything, either. You don’t—!” His voice caught, and he took a few steady breaths before finishing, “You don’t know what I do.”

Everyone always thought that. They were not always right. He made his cautious skepticism known as he dropped his hand back to his side, and Adrien was adept enough at reading him to see it for what it was.

Adrien pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, not looking at the Gorilla. “I saw him that day. I wasn’t supposed to, the way our schedules were, but I did. Nathalie doesn’t know. She thinks I skipped my piano lesson to spend time with Nino. I never corrected her, and after what happened, she never brought it up. But I saw Father, and the way things ended….” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as tears tracked down his cheeks. “I want to take it back. But I can’t. There’s been so much that could just be undone, but _not this_.” He broke off into audible sobs, his entire frame shaking with the effort.

The Gorilla had never been particularly adept at comforting people or anything else that required a fine reading of emotions and evaluating the best response to them, but he moved to pat Adrien’s back now. The boy’s remaining resolve dissolved completely. He might have intended to continue telling his story, but all he managed was a pained keening, a wordless mourning cry that pierced the soul.

It was some time before Adrien fumbled for a tissue. As he wiped at his eyes and nose, still sniffing and blinking more often than normal, he eased himself back into a cross-legged position. Leaning his head back on the couch, he looked up at the Gorilla. “That’s why I can’t go,” he whispered, his voice still thick as he worked to speak around the lump he no doubt still felt in his throat. “Every time I think about it, I lose control. Don’t make me go. I can’t go. Not now.”

Living was going to be a constant reminder of what Adrien had lost, but if he kept trying to bundle it away inside, it was little wonder it kept breaking out. Maybe, as much as he needed a reason to leave, he needed assurance that it was okay to do that, to go out and live his life, to find reason to laugh again. He seemed to think it would be a betrayal to be happy, to do anything that might have been against his father’s wishes. He needed to be reassured that it was okay to grieve and still okay to live and to enjoy that life.

But the Gorilla knew very well that Nathalie had tried to tell him all of that. If Adrien wouldn’t listen to them, then it would need to come from someone else. He had no idea what sort of advice Adrien was getting from Plagg, but Adrien’s isolation seemed self-imposed; it was unlikely Adrien had taken to this on the advice of someone else. He had probably sought to protect himself.

How different he was now from the boy who had risked his father’s wrath to follow his dream of attending school and making friends.

“Please go.” The words were softly spoken, but they cut at him for more than just sympathy at the raw pain in Adrien’s voice. “I don’t want to think about this right now.”

The Gorilla rested a hand on Adrien’s shoulder for a moment, letting him feel its weight, its realness, and then he did as Adrien had asked.

This time, he was the one avoiding Nathalie, turning the other way when she saw him in the hallway. He headed in a roundabout route for the garage, and she stopped trying to catch him when she realized where he was going. She must have realized he didn’t intend to tell her more about Plagg—she should have realized he hardly knew more—and clearly he had had no more luck than she when it came to coaxing Adrien from the confines of his room.

But he wasn’t willing to give up just yet.

The route he took was a familiar one, despite the fact that Adrien tried to walk or take the metro whenever he could get away with it. He had never gotten used to what he saw as flaunting his wealth in front of his friends, and the Gorilla wasn’t sure Adrien entirely understood his father’s security concerns, either. But it had been part of his job to know where Adrien was at all times. He had failed in that often enough to have been stripped of his job and likely only still had it because Adrien always pretended he was where he was supposed to be or presented a feasible excuse—or at least a feeble excuse—whenever that was clearly not the case. M. Agreste had been too busy to oversee the personal details once Adrien’s absences had begun racking up, and the job had fallen to Nathalie, and Nathalie trusted him.

Quite simply, she knew that he did everything he possibly could to keep Adrien safe, and he had not given her a reason to believe anyone else could do a better job. Nothing had emphasized that point more than when she’d torn up his resignation letter, insisting that she’d worked with him long enough to know there wasn’t someone better than him who would take this job. She had had to reschedule a number of Adrien’s appointments by that time, and it seemed she had decided the boy had a knack for giving his tail the slip.

He still suspected she’d looked for other candidates, but that didn’t mean he had no appreciation for her words.

Still, the two of them—and everyone else on staff—looked out for Adrien. They had done their best not to fail him, and the Gorilla wasn’t about to give up on him now. Maybe they hadn’t been able to convince Adrien to leave the safety of his room, but quite frankly the Gorilla wasn’t convinced any of his friends had really tried.

He pulled to a stop a few doors down from the Lahiffe residence. Fortuitously, Nino was the one who answered when he rang the bell. The boy gawked at the Gorilla before looking around him, trying to spot his friend. “Is Adrien here?” Then, without giving the Gorilla a chance to respond, “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

The Gorilla didn’t quite flinch as Nino slammed the door in his face, but it was a near thing. The door opened a moment later and a breathless Nino tore past him, tugging on a jacket as he legged it to the limo for all he was worth. The door had slammed behind him, so the Gorilla merely turned to follow the boy. 

“He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” Nino asked desperately as the Gorilla unlocked the limousine. He didn’t wait for the Gorilla to open the door for him, instead pulling it open himself and diving inside. He repeated his question once they were both in the car and the Gorilla was heading back to the Agreste residence.

But the truth was, he didn’t know how to answer Nino’s question.

Adrien _should_ be all right, but he wasn’t now, and no one really expected him to be right now. But in the future? That was, quite possibly, up to the rest of them as much as it was up to Adrien himself. Nino, for all his earlier distance, clearly wanted to help. He was as worried about Adrien as the rest of them. But for all that he didn’t want to push Adrien, either, he was almost more likely than Nathalie to succeed in doing just that.

Nino, by the simple consequence of going to visit Adrien, was doing something for him. Nathalie _offered_ , as so many of them had—him included. But Adrien didn’t need vague offers of help; he needed someone who would do something without asking. Last time Nino had visited, the Gorilla knew, he had brought games, and Adrien’s mood that evening had reportedly been better than ever in recent memory. This time, the Gorilla hoped Nino might bring Adrien to the games, rather than the games to Adrien. At the very least, Adrien might be more willing to be dragged from his room by a well-meaning but oblivious friend than a well-meaning but perfectly aware staff member.

That was really why the Gorilla didn’t confirm or deny anything Nino came out with, although the boy had launched into an almost uncharacteristic stream-of-consciousness babble in an attempt to fill the silence and stave off his worry which made attempted interjections impossible anyway.

Nino was running for the house before the car had stopped moving. Glancing over his shoulder, the Gorilla saw the boy nearly bowl over Nathalie when he raced inside, not even bothering to shut the doors behind him. She managed to catch him by the arm and say something to him. The Gorilla was pleased to see the panic melt off Nino’s face but happier still to see a grim sort of determination replace it.

The Gorilla left the car parked in the driveway rather than the garage, something he had only done a handful of times in all the years he’d worked with the Agrestes, and headed inside to see if his plan would bear fruit.

Nathalie was waiting for him. She ambushed him the moment he cleared the threshold, stepping into his path with furious confidence. With her arms crossed, looking down her nose at him with narrowed eyes and shot through with tightly controlled anger that made her stand too still, she would be a formidable figure—were he anyone else. But he was used to Nathalie, and she had as good as given him permission to try to get Adrien to leave his room.

“Are you sure we should be pushing him like this?” Nathalie hissed. “You brought Nino over with no explanations.” She didn’t sound too happy about that part of things, either, but she had always liked explanations and had never been able to understand why he thought people could sometimes just figure things out for themselves. “Even if Nino does try to get Adrien to leave—and we have no guarantee he’ll even ask that—how do you know it’s not too soon? Adrien is struggling! He’s been through more than—!”

She might be angry, but she still broke off when he raised his hand. She wasn’t necessarily angry at him, then. She simply just didn’t approve of his actions and was a boiling mixture of frustration and uncertainty when it came to dealing with Adrien and the mystery of Plagg, so she was angry at herself for not knowing how to handle the situation.

Although she probably would have appreciated a mite more information from him.

“Let Nino try,” he said. Yes, Adrien was struggling, but Adrien was already broken, whether or not Nathalie admitted it. It wasn’t the sort of broken that could be fixed, practically replaced to become good as new, but it _was_ the sort of broken that could leave a person stronger rather than weaker at the breaks, the sort of broken where the reassembly didn’t necessarily follow the original pattern. They were all familiar with those sorts of breaks—even Adrien, as he hadn’t even had time to completely rebuild himself after the first breaking.

Nathalie huffed but didn’t argue with him. She moved to the side, and they looked in the direction of Adrien’s room despite it being out of both sight and earshot. Nino would be allowed entrance. There was no question of that. It was the effect of the visit that had yet to be determined.

“I hope you’re right,” Nathalie said at length. “I hope Nino does convince him to leave. I don’t think he’ll feel as forced by it if the request comes from one of his friends.”

He agreed with Nathalie’s sentiment, but she already knew that. She was simply letting him know that she understood his reasoning.

The silence stretched between them until at last Nathalie murmured, “Marinette, you’d said?”

The Gorilla gave her a nearly imperceptible nod.

“Thank you. I’ll look into it. I hope….” She trailed off. Unusual, that; she wasn’t often at a loss for words. He didn’t prompt her, not wanting to push her any more than she wanted to push Adrien, so when she did speak again, it wasn’t to continue her unfinished thought. “Am I doing the right thing?”

He glanced at her, surprised at the doubt spilling out of her whispered words. He knew she was trying to do the right thing; they all were. But none of them knew exactly what Adrien needed when he was so reluctant to talk to them, and Nathalie, at least, would have recognized the root of the problem: there was something Adrien was determined to keep from them.

He suspected that she knew Plagg’s existence was only the beginning of the secret and not its end.

In all honesty, he had no better idea than she if uncovering the truth was the right thing to do right now. Some secrets were too dangerous to keep, and something was clearly eating away at Adrien. Perhaps it was best they didn’t know, that Nathalie took a page out of his book and did her best to ignore the matter, but inaction could very well make it worse, and she knew it. He knew she wouldn’t let it drop, not really. Nathalie worried too much, and she’d convince herself that Adrien would break down completely if he didn’t talk to someone, even if it wasn’t them. 

That might be why she was so interested in Plagg; if she could at least assure herself that Adrien was talking to Plagg, and that Plagg was genuinely a good friend to him, she might be able to step back. He knew she was used to stepping back from M. Agreste’s secrets, just as he was. There were some things they had never questioned.

But they had never been worried about one of M. Agreste’s secrets tearing him apart inside, either.

The Gorilla rested a hand on Nathalie’s shoulder, much as he had done earlier with Adrien. It meant the same thing, really. He wanted to ground her, to reassure her. None of them knew which path was the right one to walk, and none of them would until they were able to look back at everything, but if they tried their best, he thought they would be doing the right thing.

Nathalie was very good at discovering secrets when she wanted to learn them, but she was even better at keeping them. If she felt she needed to step away from the truth before she uncovered it, she would. And if she wasn’t sure if she was going too far, she knew she could ask him again, just as she had now, and he’d give her an answer.

He’d only ever had to tell her to stop once, and she had.

Given what had happened with Mme Agreste in the wake of that decision, he wasn’t convinced he had made the right one, but Nathalie had never looked at him differently for it. 

“This has to work out,” Nathalie murmured, as if her own thoughts had been following the same pattern as his. “I don’t expect it will be easy, but…. Adrien’s so young. We can’t lose him, too.” She paused, and in a softer tone added, “Thank you for helping me with all of this.”

She didn’t turn to look at him, but she didn’t need to. Of course he stood with her. They all stood with her, because she stood with Adrien, and there wasn’t a single person in M. Agreste’s employ who hadn’t loved watching the young Agreste grow up and find his way in the world. Every one of them would help where they could.

And they would all be trying their best, hoping they were doing the right thing.

He squeezed Nathalie’s shoulder, finally feeling the tension melt out of it, and went to keep himself occupied just out of sight so that he would be ready to go the moment Adrien emerged from his room with Nino. 

As he got to work, he allowed himself a small smile for the first time in weeks. The path ahead might not be easy, but they would get through this. They would get _Adrien_ through this, and that was the most important thing of all.


	12. Part XII: Adrien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per Tambrai's request, we have Adrien's POV as someone tries to convince him to leave his room. Please let me know if you spot any typos/other mistakes as you read through this so I can fix them (this always holds true, but it was a little late when I was editing this). Enjoy!

The cold water felt good. Adrien cupped his hands under the faucet and let them fill before again splashing the water over his face, intent on driving away the tear stains and regaining some sense of control over his emotions. He hadn’t had much of that lately.

He turned off the tap and reached for a towel automatically, drying his face and then staring at the mirror. Sometimes, there was a hollow-eyed stranger looking back at him. This time, he could still see a snatch of his former self in his reflection. None of Chat Noir’s cocky confidence, but some of the quiet, reserved Adrien who had always been so deferential to his father. His fingers flicked through his hair automatically to style the dampened strands into something acceptable; Father would not approve if he didn’t—

But it didn’t matter anymore. Not really. Father wasn’t here. He’d never be here again. Because of what Adrien had done.

Adrien’s hands dropped to clutch the edge of the counter to steady himself. He breathed deeply, staring at his hands until he had relaxed enough to no longer see white beneath his knuckles, and raised his eyes again.

It was silly to be scared of your own reflection, and he wasn’t scared, not really, but he didn’t like the person who looked back at him. That person deserved all the wretched guilt and gut-twisting sorrow etched on his features. _He_ was a murderer. _He_ had committed patricide. _He_ had made himself an or—

“Breathe,” Adrien muttered, tightening his grip once more. “You can do this.”

But he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t get through it. He was supposed to be strong, but he couldn’t—!

Adrien lowered himself carefully the floor, curling up so he could hug his knees as he sat on the cold tile. He realized he was crying again. He shut his eyes, no longer caring, and heaved shuddering sobs.

This was his fault.

His father was dead because of him.

He should have been more careful. He should have never risked Cataclysm, even against Hawk Moth. Or he should have known the secrets his father had been keeping. Wasn’t he keeping the same ones? _He should have known._ Somehow. He should have known, and he should have stopped, but he hadn’t, so he didn’t, and….

A warm weight settled on the back of his head. 

Plagg.

He didn’t say anything, for which Adrien was grateful. He was just _there_ , in case he was needed. He understood without Adrien having to explain. He didn’t try to make excuses like the others, didn’t make excuses for what Adrien had done or was doing now or for how he thought Adrien was feeling. He didn’t invent excuses to talk, and he didn’t ask for answers Adrien couldn’t give.

And Adrien didn’t have to pretend for him.

Plagg was the only one he didn’t have to pretend for; he even pretended for Marinette, because poor Marinette still thought her brilliant idea was at fault because of what he had done when he had executed it. For her, he pretended the pain was less. For her, he pretended that there hadn’t been another way. For her, he pretended that the unknown variables didn’t matter, that the unanswered questions amounted to nothing, that he wasn’t plagued with guilt and regret and horror as much as sorrow. For her, he pretended that this felt the same as it had when he had learned about his mother.

It didn’t.

It couldn’t.

It never would.

But he would always have to _pretend_ that that’s what it was, that that’s what it felt like, in front of everyone else. Because even Marinette, who knew the truth, couldn’t possibly understand. And no matter how much people like Nathalie meant well, she would never know his secret or the dark one his father had been hiding. He didn’t want anyone who wasn’t already involved finding anything out.

He wasn’t sure if it was to prevent tarnishing his father’s memory or just to protect himself from what would happen if the truth came out.

He couldn’t convince himself that his actions were entirely noble.

But the secret was eating him up inside, tearing him apart. He’d almost told Chloé—would have, if his Miraculous hadn’t disappeared and Plagg along with it. And he’d slipped just now, nearly telling the Gorilla more than it was safe to tell anyone. Nathalie must already be suspicious that he wasn’t telling her something after the incident with the vase. 

He couldn’t remember consciously deciding to throw it. He had simply seen the card with its cheery little message from Chat Noir, remembered writing it and the others for those sweet little kids, and had suddenly found himself hating the falsity of it all, hating the hollow messages he’d written. They had been _wrong_. They weren’t right, none of this was right, and he hadn’t been able stand the lies so he’d just….

Reacted.

Slipped.

Destroyed the bouquet of flowers that had not been sent by Chat Noir and destroyed his father’s vase in the process.

Because he destroyed everything, even if Nathalie didn’t understand that.

There was a tentative knock on his door. Adrien huddled in closer, held his breath, and wished that whoever it was would just go away and leave him alone. He was tired of pretense and masks. He was tired of vague, well-meaning concern and questions for which he had no answers. He was tired of all the suggestions and advice and not-so-subtle nudges towards what everyone else thought was best for him. He was just _tired_.

The three quiet knocks sounded again.

Not Nathalie, then, who would have announced herself by now and possibly thought it necessary to come in uninvited. Not the Gorilla, whose knocks were sharper with less time in between. Not anyone else who usually ran about the house, either; they would all announce themselves immediately. 

Three more knocks, slightly louder this time. Then, “Adrien? Nathalie told me you were in here. Can I, uh, come in?”

Nino.

Adrien uncurled and got to his feet. Plagg hovered behind him at eye level as he rinsed his face one more time and then dove for Adrien’s pocket without being asked. Plagg usually did know what Adrien needed these days. It was an almost frightening change from Plagg’s usual camembert-obsessed self, although he wasn’t left wanting the cheese anyway. The cook had realized that cheese was the only thing that reliably disappeared from Adrien’s plates, and she had somehow discovered Adrien’s apparent favourite.

Plagg might not say it, but Adrien knew he was beyond grateful. It was just as well. Adrien didn’t want him to leave to go scavenging any more than he did. And Adrien would never admit it to Plagg, but he was used to the smell now. It reminded him of Plagg, of his friendship and his support, and Adrien found it comforting.

He was inordinately thankful that he didn’t associate _camembert_ with _Chat Noir_. _Plagg_ was linked, of course, but Plagg was different. He was alive, not simply a means to an end, and that made all the difference in the world.

Adrien crossed his bedroom and opened the door just as Nino’s hand was poised to knock again—likely for the last time, judging by the flash of relief on his face. It made Adrien feel guilty. “Hi, Nino. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Nino feigned casual relaxation, but Adrien could see how tense he was. “No problem. You okay?”

No. He still wasn’t convinced he’d ever be okay again. “How can I not be when you’re here?” he said instead, stepping back. “Come in. Thanks for dropping by.”

Nino frowned but entered anyway. “Dude, I’m serious.” When Adrien didn’t respond, Nino added, “I meant today. You doing okay today? Or at least better than yesterday?”

Adrien shrugged. “About the same,” he mumbled as he closed the door. “Not exactly great.”

“No one’s expecting great,” Nino murmured, and Adrien wasn’t sure if he had been meant to hear that so he didn’t respond. Nino’s eyes were flicking around the room, and they finally settled back on Adrien. “Man, this is going to sound horrible, but what do you _do_ in here? I’m not convinced you’ve touched anything since I left last time.”

In terms of anything of entertainment value, he hadn’t. But an honest answer was uncomfortable, so Adrien settled for another shrug and dropped down onto the couch.

Nino didn’t join him. “No, seriously, how are you not going stir crazy? Don’t you just need to get out of the house?”

Leaving had once meant freedom, but his self-imposed confinement now meant safety. He hadn’t really understood it before, had never wanted to be isolated from the rest of the world, but being out there _hurt_ , and…..

There were too many reminders.

It’s not that there were fewer here, exactly, but he was free to break down here. Here, he wouldn’t be judged if he teared up at the sight of something as innocuous as an advertisement for perfume. Here, he wouldn’t be swamped by the false sympathy of strangers. Here, he could grieve in peace.

Even if it made him feel guiltier to think that way.

Because no one understood, no matter how much they wanted to. And he was tired of acting. It was easier to stay here, where he didn’t have to act all the time. Plagg and Chloé had both told him that pretending could help, that it would eventually get to a point where it wasn’t pretending any longer, but it was exhausting. Even when he did sleep, even though he forced himself to eat something, he was still tired.

“I’m just tired.” It was the only explanation Nino might find acceptable. 

“So you’re staying here because it’s easier? You know you’re probably not going to be tired if you actually get out of here and do something, right?”

Adrien could see where this was going. He wondered if Nathalie had put Nino up to it. 

“C’mon, man, you’ve gotta admit staring at these same four walls for weeks can’t be good for you.” Adrien pointedly looked out the window, and Nino rolled his eyes. “Dude, you know what I mean.”

“I just don’t want to go right now, Nino.”

Nino sighed and finally sat down. “Stop me if I’m overstepping, okay? I really don’t know the boundaries here. But I think you need to get out of here, even if it’s just for an hour or something. It’s not like you ever loved staying at home before.”

Nino was right; he used to get out at every opportunity. But he had enjoyed himself then, and he didn’t deserve that now. And he didn’t want to risk unintentionally ruining any more lives, didn’t want to risk tarnishing his father’s name. He really couldn’t face the press right now. He knew there had been calls, and he knew Nathalie had said something to them, but he didn’t know what and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to deal with any of that right now.

Curling up and crying just seemed like a better option.

It didn’t necessarily make him feel better, but sometimes it helped a bit.

Nino seemed to be waiting for him to say something, so Adrien muttered, “Things change.” He drew up his knees to his chest again and stared out the window.

“Well, not everything has to change. C’mon. Games at my place? I swear you don’t have to stay if you really don’t want to, but I think it’ll do you good.”

It wouldn’t.

“I’m worried about you.”

Adrien looked back at Nino, but he couldn’t see any falsehood behind the admission. Nino _was_ worried about him—because as far as Nino knew, Adrien was withdrawing because he was grieving for his father. He didn’t know Adrien was still trying to figure out how to even begin the impossible task of making up for what he had done.

He had killed someone. He had killed his own father. He didn’t deserve _normal_ , didn’t deserve going out to play games with his friends, didn’t deserve to enjoy his life when he had cut short another’s. The only way he could think to begin to make amends was being the model son his father had always wanted him to be, and gaming—let alone friends—didn’t enter into that equation.

“I know. I’m sorry. But I still can’t.”

“Why not?”

It was an honest question; Nino didn’t think it was a difficult one. He probably hadn’t thought about it at all. The fact that he could be so straight with someone was one of the reasons Adrien valued him as a friend; he liked not having to guess what Nino really meant.

But the real answer wasn’t something Adrien could say aloud.

“Yeah, see, that’s why I think it’s more of a _won’t_ than a _can’t_ ,” Nino said after the silence had stretched. “It’s not a crime to enjoy yourself, you know. Your parents would want you to be happy.”

“You don’t know that.” Adrien hadn’t realized he’d spoken the words out loud until he realized Nino was staring at him in surprise. Trying to recover the situation, he added, “You hardly knew them, Nino. You never even met my mother.”

The hurt look on Nino’s face told Adrien how deep his words had cut. He hadn’t meant it that way. But Nino hadn’t met his mother, and the few times he’d met his father were hardly enough for Nino to make that assertion. Especially when Gabriel Agreste had made it rather clear he didn’t wholly approve of Adrien’s friendship with Nino, even if he didn’t outright forbid it. But Nino had wanted Adrien to have fun, to let loose and live a little—his words, not Adrien’s—while Gabriel had tried to mould Adrien into the perfect son.

Sometimes, it made Adrien wonder if he’d been broken before all of this.

He’d certainly never been perfect.

“They’re still your parents,” Nino muttered. “You loved them, so it’s a pretty safe assumption that they loved you, and what kind of loving parent doesn’t want their kid to be happy?”

Adrien closed his eyes. “It’s more complicated than that, Nino.”

“So, what, there was bad blood between you after all?” Nino sucked in a breath. “Wait, no, pretend I didn’t say that. I didn’t come here to get into an argument with you. Especially one about your parents. Because you’re right. I really didn’t know them. I just thought…. Dude, you know I’m not good at this kind of thing. I’m sorry. Really. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Should I go?”

Adrien looked at Nino. “No, it’s okay. Stay.” Nino looked torn between relief and disbelief, so Adrien added, “And you’re not wrong. About my parents, I mean. They did love me. Just…happiness is complicated. That’s all I meant.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. “How is happiness complicated?”

Adrien bit his lip, not sure how to explain himself. “It’s not happiness itself. It’s more…. Responsibility, I guess. It’s not that my parents wouldn’t want me to be happy. They would. But Father was forever reminding me of my responsibilities. Not just the commitments I’ve made to other people, but the responsibilities and expectations that come with who I am.”

“If this is your way of telling me being rich isn’t fun, I’m not sure I’m buying it.”

Adrien nearly laughed, but the urge was almost immediately replaced with a prickling in his eyes and a soreness in his throat because he didn’t deserve to laugh, especially not at his father’s expense. He swallowed back the sudden sourness in his mouth and croaked, “I don’t blend into the crowd, and I don’t have the luxury of pretending that I do.” 

Nino nodded. “I get it now. So you don’t want to leave because you don’t want to face anyone who keeps reminding you of everything?”

That was part of it, so Adrien nodded.

“Then you clearly have not turned on the TV, have you? Nathalie is _fierce_. No one you don’t know is going to dare talk to you after what she said. She’s got the police on her side on this—that’s not exactly public, but it’s pretty obvious—and knowing her, she’s found a way to get a message to Ladybug and Chat Noir. You’re probably going to have a huge security detail wherever you go, and—”

“—and even if no one talks to me, everyone will still be watching me.” Finishing Nino’s thought was a pitiful attempt to distract himself from the talk of Ladybug and Chat Noir, but he really didn’t want to think about them right now. He doubted Marinette was patrolling; even if she was trying to use it as a distraction herself, helping out wherever she could, the absence of her partner would be noticed.

The disappearance of both heroes was somehow less suspicious than the disappearance of one.

“So we give them the slip, then. You can do it. If there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s disappearing—and you’re good at a lot of things, so that’s really saying something.”

Adrien couldn’t really deny that, given how often he’d had to slip away from Nino, but his usual disappearing act wasn’t an option now. “Not now, Nino.” _Please, not now. Not ever_ wasn’t an option, he knew that, but not now. Just _not now_.

“It can’t be much worse than usual,” Nino said, misunderstanding him. “I mean, your driver is basically your bodyguard, right? Besides, I can distract whoever you’re really worried about. We can do this.”

Nino could do it, but Adrien couldn’t. “No, Nino, I can’t—”

“But if we just—”

“ _I can’t_!” Adrien yelled, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears threatened to come again. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

Nino’s mouth was still open when Adrien looked at him through the blur of tears. He just looked…shocked. Dumbfounded. He meant well, but he understood nothing. 

After a moment, Nino croaked, “So…. I guess I overstepped, huh?”

The attempt at humour fell flat, and Adrien didn’t bother saying anything.

“I guess….” Nino shrugged and looked down at the floor. “I dunno, man. I’m worried about you, like I said. I’m still not convinced it’s entirely healthy for you to be cooped up in here. But I think it’s selfish of me, too, because I miss you. You’re my best friend, and aside from that one time, we haven’t hung out in ages. I mean, I get why, but I just feel like I should be doing something and I don’t know what it is.” In a quieter voice, he added, “I guess I thought having you over at my place, playing games like old times, would mean that this isn’t the end of everything, even though it feels like it.” Then, so softly Adrien almost couldn’t hear him, “But all I’m doing is making it sound like this is about me when it’s not, and I just feel worse, because what kind of friend does that make me?”

Adrien waited a beat to be certain that Nino had finished and then whispered, “Not knowing what to do is normal, I think. I don’t know what to do, either. Not knowing doesn’t make you a bad friend.”

“Chloé knows,” Nino muttered.

“She’s been through something like this before,” Adrien agreed, “but so have I, and it doesn’t…. It doesn’t make it easier.” This time was harder. For him, anyway. But there were multiple reasons for that, not all of which he could tell Nino. “Even when you’ve been here yourself, you don’t always know what to say or what to do.”

“Or where to go?”

Nino was giving him a sidelong look now. Adrien sighed and dropped his feet back to the floor. “I’m not ready,” he admitted. “I can’t face everyone right now.”

Nino frowned. “Why not? Reminders? Fear?”

Everything was a reminder, but Adrien was slowly starting to accept it probably would be for a long while yet. And fear…. If he thought about it critically, it was certainly possible that he was afraid to face the world after what he had done. He was afraid of what he still might do, and he was terrified of the consequences if the truth came out, and there were so many unknowns in his future, and— “Maybe.” But it was guilt, too. He knew that, even if he couldn’t tell Nino about it. He had taken his father’s life; what right did he have to live his freely? 

The isolation was punishment as much as it was protection.

Everything conflicted, though. If the punishment became an excuse to stay away from everyone, was it still a suitable penance? And as much as he thought he should live his life as his father would have wanted, to try to make up for what he had done, a little voice taunted him that he didn’t deserve to live a life he’d enjoy at all. He didn’t deserve happiness after what he had done. He didn’t deserve any comfort Nathalie tried to give him, didn’t deserve Nino’s friendship, didn’t deserve the freeing lack of secrets between him and Marinette, and he definitely didn’t deserve to still have Plagg.

But he did, for now, and that ball of warmth in his pocket meant everything to him.

“Well, whatever the reason, do you think you’ll ever feel ready?”

Adrien blinked, caught off guard this time. “What do you…?” But he knew what Nino meant.

And Nino knew the answer without Adrien having to say it.

“If you have to take a risk, if you have to do something before you think you’re ready to do it, isn’t it better to at least have someone with you when you do?”

Nino was right. Logically, Adrien knew that. But logic couldn’t do anything against the flood of feelings that threatened to overwhelm him when he contemplated the prospect of leaving.

No matter what Plagg or Marinette said, he blamed himself for what had happened. And he wasn’t ready to forgive himself, even if it had been an accident. Wasn’t leaving a sign of moving on, of living like he hadn’t done anything wrong, of forgiveness when there should be none? He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t—!

But he’d been told more than once that life simply didn’t just _stop_ , even when it felt like it should, and he knew he couldn’t stand still forever.

“You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to,” Nino clarified when Adrien didn’t answer him. “Just…food for thought, y’know?”

“Yes.” The word was out of his mouth almost before Adrien realized it, but he didn’t regret it.

“Okay. Good. That offer’s gonna be on the table for as long as you need it to be, all right? I don’t want to—”

“No, Nino, I meant _yes_. Yes, I’ll come.” If he didn’t go now, he knew with certainty that it would only get harder, and he wasn’t sure…. He really wasn’t sure he’d be able to go later. Not as easily. And it was laughable to think of this as _easily_ , because his body was already betraying him. He was actually _shaking_ as he got to his feet, quick tremors racing up his arms and legs that he simply couldn’t control.

Nino’s eyes were wide. “Are you sure? You don’t need to come right now if you don’t—”

“Let’s go.” If he let himself listen to Nino, he might very well change his mind. 

Nino still looked doubtful. “But—”

Adrien started walking before he lost his nerve. His right hand drifted up to his breast pocket to hold Plagg, keeping it there until he opened the door.

Nino caught up to him as he stood staring into the hallway. “One step at a time, right?”

“Right,” Adrien agreed softly, but his feet still didn’t move. 

Did _leaving_ mean he thought everything would be okay? That what he’d done was understandable, even acceptable? Was it a necessary step forward, like he was trying to tell himself, or was it a determination to live a lie, to ignore the truth of what he’d done simply because that would make it easier for him?

Adrien stood with his arms up, resting his hands on the door casing, and Nino finally ducked underneath and turned to face him. “Back up a bit,” he ordered. Adrien, confused, dropped his hands and obeyed. Nino moved to stand so he was right in front of him and put his hands on Adrien’s shoulders. “Now, just look at me, okay? And walk with me. You can do this.”

Nino took a small step back, and Adrien took a small step forward to compensate. 

“See?” Nino took another step back. “One step at a time. Just focus on me for now, okay? You got this, man.” 

Adrien tried shutting his eyes, but he stumbled, and Nino coaxed him into opening them again. He settled for reading the earnestness in Nino’s expression instead, trying to take comfort in the never-wavering gaze, and he didn’t realize they’d made it out of his room until Nino backed into the opposite wall.

He looked over his shoulder at the doorway and started breathing more quickly in spite of himself. What had he been thinking? This was a terrible idea. He should never have—!

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Adrien. Look at me, dude. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Adrien tore his eyes away and looked at Nino again. Worry had replaced earnestness, and there was an edge of panic in his face that he couldn’t quite mask.

“Breathe,” Nino said. “Okay? Just breathe. Breathe with me. In and out, right? In.” He made a big show of sucking in his breath and, a few seconds later, exhaling loudly. “And out. And again. In. Out.” 

Nino repeated this, and Adrien obeyed, and eventually the flutter of anxiety settled back down. Nino kept talking to him—kept distracting him—as he guided Adrien through the house and outside. He was vaguely aware of the Gorilla bringing around the car, and then they were on their way to Nino’s, and by the time Adrien was sitting frozen on Nino’s bed, he almost believed that Nino was right and that this hadn’t been a mistake.

He sat quietly, not trusting himself to speak, as Nino flitted around, throwing a CD into the player and running down to the kitchen for snacks before rummaging through his things for a suitable distraction.

Nino finally looked up from the pile of CDs and games at the foot of his bed and asked, “Can you check my desk to make sure I don’t have anything in there? I don’t see the game I brought over to your place, and I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off.”

Adrien nodded and got up to shift through the papers piled on his friend’s desk. He felt Plagg stir in his pocket, but the kwami knew better than to make himself known when others were around. Adrien ignored him, focusing on going through Nino’s desk. There was nothing on the top, nothing in the main door at the bottom, and in the drawers up the side—

Adrien jerked his hand back like it had been burned before slowly reaching back into the top drawer. He felt Plagg crawling carefully out of his pocket and felt bad for scaring the kwami, but it had felt like…. 

It had felt like his ring.

His fingers had brushed something hard, but when he’d grabbed at it, he’d realized it wasn’t the casing of the game. His fingers had sunk into a hole, and the curve of the object had been unmistakeable, but it couldn’t be _his_ —

Adrien pulled out the envelope, staring at the messy scrawl on its front and the familiar weight of the small object in its corner as it sat in the palm of his hand. He must have made some sound because Nino was suddenly beside him, stammering something out as he reached for the envelope, and Adrien closed his hand around it before Nino could take it away.

Plagg was at the collar of his shirt and hadn’t retreated when Nino had come over, but Nino was too preoccupied to notice.

“What—?” Adrien’s voice cracked, so he tried again. “Is this—?”

“Um. You weren’t suppo— I mean, I forgot, but it’s not….” Nino shrugged helplessly. 

It was, then. He hadn’t been imagining things.

“How?” Adrien’s voice sounded strange even to his own ears. It was hollow and dull, distant somehow. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just…. It was there one day is all. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t…. It was weird, okay? I just found it, and—”

Adrien stopped listening.

This was it.

This was the day Plagg had to leave.

Just as he had once found the ring among his possessions, now it was Nino’s turn.

“—rein? Adrien?”

The world was blurry, his cheeks wet, his throat sore and his chest aching, but it was a familiar feeling these days.

“Adrien, I’m sorry. I—”

“I’m going to miss you.” He was surprised that he could whisper the words around the lump in his throat. “Plagg, I knew you’d have to go, but…. I wish it didn’t have to be now.”

He must have dropped the envelope with the ring at some point, because the next thing he knew, Nino was picking it up. “Look, Adrien,” he was saying as he opened the envelope and pulled out the ring, “if this is yours, just take it back.”

“No. It’s yours now.” And though Adrien didn’t entirely believe the words, he forced them from his mouth: “It’s okay. Put it on.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” 

Adrien felt Plagg’s claws dig into his shoulder, but the kwami didn’t say anything, and Adrien was too used to this to flinch. And Nino still had no idea what he was getting into, but at Adrien’s insistence, he put on the ring. Adrien had expected it to change immediately, that the difference in ownership would trigger it somehow, but the ring stayed silver on Nino’s finger.

Nino was still looking at him warily. “Fits me, too,” he allowed cautiously, and when Adrien didn’t stop him, he pulled it off. “But this isn’t mine.” Nino was looking at Adrien as he said this.

Adrien had been watching the ring.

He hadn’t seen Plagg being pulled into it, but he’d watched it turn black and had felt Plagg’s claws disappear from his shoulder.

It was done, then.

His time as Chat Noir was officially over, as was his time with Plagg. 

Well.

Probably.

If Nino became Chat Noir, perhaps it would still be permissible for him to visit. He hoped so. He really didn’t want to lose Plagg forever. Losing him this way was hard enough, especially now.

The spot where Plagg had spent so much time in his pocket felt horribly cold now.

“Dude, are you okay?” Nino put the ring on his desk without even looking at it. “I mean, stupid question, but do you still want to stay here? We can call the Gorilla. I don’t even think he left.” Adrien shook his head, which Nino clearly misinterpreted. “I don’t really know what I did, but I’m sorry. If you just tell me, I’ll do my best to make sure I don’t do it again. Really. I’m sorry. I should know what I did, but I don’t. I was just trying to help, but I don’t know what I’m doing, so I’m sorry I messed up.”

“Not you,” Adrien managed as the tears started again. He made a blind grab for the desk as he felt his knees tremble with the effort of holding his body upright. _Plagg_. How was he going to do this when he didn’t have Plagg to talk to? “But maybe—”

“Home. Yeah. Got it. I’ll flag down the Gorilla. Stay strong, bro. I’ll be back in two shakes.”

“I’m sorry, Plagg,” Adrien whispered as Nino ran out. He collapsed onto Nino’s bed and looked at the ring, not even sure if Plagg could hear him. “I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye now.” He wished he’d had a chance to say a _proper_ goodbye, but he could only hope a proper goodbye wasn’t necessary. That he’d see Plagg again, that this wasn’t goodbye forever. 

“You’ve been my best friend through all of this.” Why was it so hard to say everything when it was true? “I owe you so much for what you gave me, but I’ll never be able to repay you, so just….” He couldn’t think of another way to say it. “Just know that I love you. I like to think you showed me what it’s like to have a brother, albeit one with a constant craving for stinky cheese.” Somehow, he managed to laugh, but it made him want to cry, too, because he might never be on the receiving end of Plagg’s demands for camembert again, and he’d never receive a wedge as a gift, either. Not that he’d ever really wanted one, but the thought had been there, and that had been worth more than Adrien could say. “I’ll never have another friend like you, and I’ll always remember you—” Adrien broke off, the thought striking him for the first time.

He’d never asked Plagg exactly what had happened to the previous Chat Noirs. He’d never asked if he would be allowed to remember or if there was some magic that would take it all away. Marinette had never mentioned anything, but as long as she still had Tikki, there was a good chance she didn’t know.

He didn’t want to lose everything. He’d gained too much to lose it, even if he never realized what he was missing, even if it falsely wiped away his guilt because he wouldn’t have any knowledge of his crime. If he was going to go back to just being Adrien Agreste, he needed to be the Adrien Agreste who had been made better for knowing Plagg, for being Chat Noir and working with Ladybug to save Paris, even if that same Adrien Agreste had killed his father.

“I-I will always remember, right?” 

Even if Plagg could hear him, he couldn’t answer.

“Please, please let me always remember. I can’t lose something else. I just can’t.”

He didn’t want to think about the possibility, so he went back to talking to Plagg, trying not to think about the fact that it might be the last conversation he ever had with the kwami. He didn’t stop until Nino came back with the Gorilla, and he let his driver lead him outside to the waiting car. He was terribly conscious of Nino’s worried presence and Plagg’s conspicuous absence.

He lost control of his emotions again on the drive home, and he was still sobbing when he arrived, causing Nathalie to order him bundled up and carried off to bed, and she stayed with him as he cried until his eyes were dry and he was exhausted.

She assumed he was grieving for his father, not knowing that he was grieving for someone else, too, but he couldn’t explain to her without explaining about Plagg and being Chat Noir, and he couldn’t do that, so he let her assume as he had let her assume so many other things.

But with so many secrets between them, the comfort she offered him couldn’t compare to Plagg’s, and that cold realization set him off all over again.

It was the first night in a week that Adrien cried himself to sleep.


	13. Part XIII: Alya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a request to write an epilogue for this fic, and seeing as this is still an ongoing story, I don't want to post it here yet, but if you want to skip ahead ten years into the future and see how Adrien and Marinette are holding up, you can find it [here](https://ladylynse.tumblr.com/post/161894079251/broken-miraculous-ladybug-this-is-an-epilogue).

Alya was editing the Ladyblog when her phone rang. She glanced at the call display, expecting it to be Marinette, but it was Nino. She smiled and picked it up. “Hello?”

_“I messed up.”_

Well, that wasn’t the greeting she’d expected. “How do you figure?”

_“It was with Adrien.”_

That told her multitudes on its own, but she hadn’t expected the guilt in Nino’s voice. “You wanna tell me what happened?” She wasn’t going to make that assumption, even though he’d phoned her. She’d realized that sometimes, he phoned just to be distracted for a little while.

_“I did something I shouldn’t have. Story of my life.”_ A sigh. _“Okay, so it was like this. The Gorilla turns up at my place….”_

Alya listened, making small sounds of acknowledgement in all the right places, and finally decided she needed to interrupt. “You do realize this isn’t entirely a bad thing, right?”

_“Alya, I invited him over and practically sent him home crying. How is that not a bad thing?”_

“Because it’s a step in the direction he needs to go,” she said patiently. “Look, Adrien hasn’t exactly been very sociable lately. You gave him an opportunity to get out, and he was wise enough to take you up on it. Maybe it didn’t go as well as it could have—”

_“_ That’s _the understatement of the century. He looked like I’d killed his best friend or something.”_

Nino was exaggerating, but if she pointed that out, he’d simply tell her she didn’t know because she hadn’t been there. “Just don’t let this frighten you off from inviting him again, okay? He needs this. It’ll be easier for him to come back to school if he gets used to being around everyone again.”

_“Yeah. Just…. That wasn’t everything. There was something I didn’t tell you before.”_

Alya’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

_“When I asked you about Adrien’s ring, it wasn’t just because he wasn’t wearing it. I mean, he wasn’t, and then I realized that’s because I kinda…found it.”_

“Found it?”

_“Yeah. At home. With a note. It—”_

Nino broke off, but it didn’t sound like they’d lost the connection. “Nino?” Alya prompted. “Are you still there?”

_“That’s…really weird.”_ His voice sounded distant now, like he’d dropped the phone away from his mouth.

“Nino?” she repeated.

_“Um…. I’m going to call you back.”_

“No, wait, Nino—!” But it was too late. She was stuck listening to the dial tone. 

Alya hung up and bit her lip. She could try calling back, but Nino probably wouldn’t answer. He was obviously distracted by _something_. It was frustrating, all these mysteries piling up on each other.

At least Nino had given her something. Adrien _was_ missing his ring, and Nino had it. Or, at least, Nino _believed_ he had it. And there still hadn’t been any confirmed sightings of Chat Noir. 

But she couldn’t discount that sighting of Ladybug in Adrien’s neighbourhood that night, especially not now that she knew Adrien believed—for whatever reason—that he had killed his father. 

Maybe Marinette was right and Ladybug and Chat Noir had fought Hawk Moth that night. Maybe Hawk Moth had managed to control Chat Noir. If Adrien _was_ Chat Noir, maybe she wasn’t the only one who had realized that. Maybe Hawk Moth had figured it out, too. And maybe he’d turned Adrien against his father in an attempt to get his Miraculous. It was practically common knowledge that Hawk Moth wanted the Miraculous now, and Alya doubted it was just so that he couldn’t be stopped quite so easily. It would make sense that he’d be willing to take a terrible risk like that; he’d done as much before, every time he set a villain loose on the city. After almost getting sacrificed, she knew that better than anyone.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were really the only reason no one had died, despite Hawk Moth’s gambles; it wasn’t fair to expect them to be able to keep that record forever. Sometimes things couldn’t be stopped in time. And sometimes things couldn’t be undone.

Maybe.

And maybe Sabrina was right; Alya _shouldn’t_ assume that Ladybug and Chat Noir had won the fight, assuming it had happened. Maybe Ladybug had been forced to give up her Miraculous and that was why she hadn’t reappeared. And maybe that was why Adrien’s father was still dead. And maybe, if Adrien _was_ Chat Noir, he had been able to snap out of Hawk Moth’s control, albeit too late to stop what had happened. Maybe he had smuggled the ring to Nino’s for safekeeping, so Hawk Moth couldn’t find it.

Of course, that would mean that _Nino_ was now Chat Noir.

Alya smiled, allowing herself to entertain the notion for a moment. She liked it. Nino would be able to handle the responsibility, and he might be willing to throw her a bone every now and then in terms of information. And he’d look good in the suit.

There were some obvious holes in that theory, though—too many to call it a proper hypothesis, really, let alone a theory. Like how Chat Noir had managed to get away without Hawk Moth realizing and coming to intervene, especially once he had Ladybug’s Miraculous. Or, if he _had_ managed to control Chat Noir, why he hadn’t just demanded the ring. Or what had happened to Ladybug after sacrificing her Miraculous.

Or how Marinette was involved, if any of it had actually played out that way.

Alya was seriously considering the possibility that her best friend had managed to keep the biggest secret in the world from her, but she hadn’t completely given up on the idea that Marinette had somehow discovered Chat Noir’s secret identity. Because if Marinette _was_ Ladybug, she could still _be_ Ladybug; there would be no reason for Ladybug to disappear. And if she wasn’t…. Well, if she wasn’t, maybe something terrible _had_ happened to Ladybug, and _that_ was why she’d vanished.

Or maybe they were both recovering, like Marinette had suggested.

Marinette had said she felt guilty after what had happened with Adrien’s father, and then she’d let Alya draw her own conclusions without correcting her. So maybe she _was_ Ladybug and just felt bad about not being able to fix this? Or for letting things get so out of hand? Marinette would be one to blame herself for something that wasn’t her fault.

Or maybe Marinette was involved in this entire thing for another reason, and she felt guilty because she’d been there. Alya had never asked where she’d been that night; she’d always assumed Marinette had been at home since they hadn’t been hanging out, but what if she’d been with Adrien? What if she’d witnessed M. Agreste’s death and hadn’t been able to stop it?

Alya swallowed. Even imagining seeing someone die gave her shivers. But if M. Agreste hadn’t simply died of a heart attack, if there was even a kernel of truth to the idea that Adrien had had a hand in his father’s death….

Maybe she was dead wrong. Maybe she was going to always be the person coming up with these wild conspiracy theories no one would ever believe. _But everything would make so much sense if it were true._

If Adrien were Chat Noir, perhaps he believed he had caused his father’s death because of something he had done under Hawk Moth’s control. If Adrien were Chat Noir, it would make sense for Hawk Moth to target his family and try to use Adrien’s father as leverage to get his Miraculous. If Adrien were Chat Noir, the missing ring would be significant, not just a coincidence, and would explain why there had been no sightings of Chat Noir in weeks. If Nino didn’t have Adrien’s ring for safekeeping after all, then maybe Hawk Moth had succeeded in taking it, and Nino’s ring was just a replica of some sort.

And if Marinette were Ladybug, she would surely have been there for the fight or feel guilty over missing it if she hadn’t been. If she were Ladybug, it was reasonable that she would suddenly recover her tongue around Adrien in the wake of what had happened, especially if she hadn’t known who Chat Noir was beforehand—but Alya still thought they must know. It would surely be easier if they did. But that was beside the point. 

Marinette being Ladybug would explain her feelings about this entire situation, her sudden closeness with Adrien, the strange insights to Paris’s heroes that she’d always had, the way she’d had been able to set up an interview with a hero Alya could barely pin down, and the way she had always run off when there was an attack. Come to think of it, Adrien had always been running off, too. So had she, but she was very obviously documenting things for the Ladyblog. That was different. 

And it would also explain that history textbook.

Yes, there were other explanations. Alya knew that. She’d considered most of them, if not all. But this just…fit. Call it women’s intuition. Or a reporter’s instinct. Since that day she’d had lunch with Marinette, she’d convinced herself of this. Sabrina’s intel had only fueled her certainty. 

And now she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

It’s not like she could just go and ask Marinette if she was—or ever had been—Ladybug and start the conversation that way. 

And she wasn’t sure an examination of Nino’s ring would provide any answers, though she did want to know why he’d hung up on her. But she could get that answer out of him easily enough tomorrow. Marinette…Marinette would be more tricky. 

Because asking would be pushing, and that was exactly what Marinette had asked her not to do. Which was why Alya had tried to content herself by drawing connections and exhausting every possible explanation she could think of for the evidence she had at hand. But with Ladybug and Chat Noir gone and Marinette and Adrien clearly out of sorts, especially when they both looked undeniably similar to the superheroes and how they were almost always absent when there was a documented attack…. 

She might be wrong that they were the superheroes—maybe Ladybug and Chat Noir really were three thousand years old—but she couldn’t be wrong that they were connected to them. She had too much evidence pointing in that direction for her to just dismiss it out of hand.

But even if she couldn’t ask Marinette about all the secrets she’d been keeping from her best friend, Alya could tell her the latest news on Adrien. Ladybug or not, Marinette would want to know. 

The phone rang four times before Marinette picked up; Alya had already been trying to figure out what she’d say in a voicemail. _“Hello?”_

“Hey, girl. Are you feeling any better than you were earlier today?” Marinette made a noncommittal noise, and Alya knew she wasn’t going to get a proper answer, so she moved on. “Look, I figured I should tell you— I just got off the phone with Nino. He had Adrien over today—”

_“Adrien left his room?”_ The surprise in Marinette’s voice was unmistakeable. 

So was the hope, and Alya felt like she was about to crush it. “Yeah. And not easily, from the sounds of it, even if he did go willingly.”

_“But he still went.”_ Marinette’s voice was hesitant now. Wary. _“So what haven’t you told me?”_

“The bad news, which you can probably already guess. It didn’t exactly go well. Nino’s convinced it’s his fault. He thinks he pushed Adrien too hard.”

_“I’m not sure if he would have gone on his own.”_

“I know. But it sounds like Adrien just broke down, and Nino panicked. His driver took him back home. Nino’s pretty much convinced himself that if Adrien never comes back to school, it’s his fault.” She waited, but Marinette didn’t say anything, so Alya added, “Maybe you should talk to him.”

_“Who? Nino or Adrien?”_

Both. Especially if her crazy theories were right, because Adrien was much more likely to open up to his partner and Marinette and Adrien were probably the only ones Nino was supposed to tell about having Chat Noir’s ring.

Wait.

What if Adrien hadn’t been the one to give Nino the ring? What if he was taking this so badly because he’d _found_ his ring? At Nino’s? 

_“Alya?”_

“Sorry. I was just thinking.” Alya winced, imagining Marinette’s eye roll. “You should talk to both of them. You’ve been getting on really well with Adrien lately, and Nino could use more reassurances than just mine.”

It was a long moment before Marinette spoke. _“So you’re not going to ask?”_

“Ask what?”

_“Whatever it is you’re not asking.”_

There were a million things she wasn’t asking. “I’m trying not to push,” Alya admitted. Well, she was trying not to push where Marinette would notice, and Marinette would definitely notice if she asked any of the questions buzzing around her head. _When did you get so close to Adrien? What aren’t you telling me? What am I missing? Or am I right after all? Are you Ladybug? What happened? Why abandon us?_

_“I appreciate that, Alya, but this is starting to feel…awkward. No, that’s not the right word. Unsettling, maybe? I know it’s only been a few days, but you’ve been really…intense. And distant. It’s not a combination I’d expect. I’m starting to worry about you.”_

Alya bit out a laugh. “I am the last person you need to worry about, Marinette. I should be saying that to you. You’re the one who still isn’t sleeping. Really, you don’t need to add me to your list of reasons for lying awake at night. I’m fine.”

_“You’re changing the subject. I might not be ready to talk, but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready to listen. You’re still my best friend.”_

No, this time it really did mean she wasn’t ready to listen. At least, she wouldn’t want to hear what Alya had to say, even if it wasn’t true. Maybe especially if it wasn’t true. “And you’re still mine, but really, you can ignore me. I’m just not good at not poking my nose where it doesn’t belong, that’s all. Adrien’s the one who went home in tears, and Nino’s the one who thinks he caused that.”

_“You’re not actually making me feel better. You know that, right?”_

This time, Alya’s laugh was genuine. “Sorry. I just thought I wouldn’t bother you with all my crazy theories until such time that I was free to push a bit and get some clarification on them.” It was the truth, if far from all of it.

Marinette snorted, and Alya knew her light tone had done the trick. _“Just give up on the idea that Adrien’s Chat Noir, okay? He’s not.”_

Maybe not any more. “Okay,” Alya agreed. “Adrien’s not Chat Noir.” He couldn’t be, if he didn’t have the ring. “But, in all seriousness, you should check in on him. It sounds like he could use a friend, and Nino’s definitely not going to have the courage to face him right now. And you mean more to Adrien than I do.”

Alya smiled as choked, incomprehensible sounds erupted on Marinette’s end. At least _something_ hadn’t changed, though for Marinette’s sake, Alya would have preferred that this had, and not just because it put a damper on her theory that she and Adrien had been together even if neither of them were Paris’s heroes. Marinette might have found her tongue and be able to talk to Adrien, but she still seemed to have no faith in herself when it came to the idea that she and Adrien might end up a couple. Adrien wasn’t likely to go out with anyone in the near future, but that was beside the point. It was undeniable that Marinette was helping him through this. She definitely had a chance, once things settled out.

And if it took a few not-so-subtle remarks on Alya’s part to remind her of that perfect truth, well, Alya wasn’t going to neglect her duty. 

“Just talk to him, Marinette,” she said. “Go see him. Assuming Nathalie will let anyone see him right now.”

_“Right. I’ll...I’ll do that. I’ll swing by Nino’s if Nathalie won’t let me in; otherwise, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I promise.”_

“Sounds like a plan.” And it did, at least if her latest crazy theories were remotely true. “Keep me posted. But take care of yourself too, yeah? I don’t mean for you to think you have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

_“I know. Thanks, Alya. I’ll talk to you soon.”_

Marinette hung up before Alya could ask if her words had a double meaning, and Alya found herself listening to the dial tone once again. She frowned at her phone, glanced at the pages of notes she’d made on her desk, refreshed the Ladyblog to see if anyone had reported a sighting of Chat Noir or Ladybug (they hadn’t), and made her decision. She couldn’t put this off any longer. She was driving herself nuts, and clearly she was worrying Marinette, which is the last thing she wanted. She had to make the call.

Two heads were better than one, after all, and she needed a sounding board.

And Marinette and Nino and Adrien weren’t available.

_“Hello?”_

“Sabrina?” Alya didn’t wait for the confirmation. “We need to talk. In private. You even so much as hint that something’s up to Chloé, and the deal’s off.”

_“We haven’t made a deal.”_

“It would be the same as our last one. Information exchange. You talked to Chloé again, right?” This time, she waited for Sabrina’s cautious affirmation before continuing. “Well, I’ve got something, too, but I don’t know how concrete my connections are and how many are there just because I’m looking for something. I think I need another set of eyes, and I’m sure you can use a fresh pair, too.”

_“You want to meet tonight?”_

“I want to meet now, if you can get away without arousing suspicion.” And that might not be the easiest thing, Alya realized, if Sabrina was at home right now. Especially not if her dad was around.

Silence on the other end of the line. Then, _“Give me an hour, and I can meet you in front of the school.”_

“No, that’ll send up major red flags for anyone who sees us.” A park wasn’t really a better option. “You live close to a library, right? I’ll meet you there. Bring your notes and a textbook, grab as private a table as you can find, and text me. I’ll find you. If anyone asks, we’re researching a project.”

_“You’re not just using me, are you?”_ Sabrina’s voice was hard. _“To get what information I have? Is that why you aren’t just meeting up with Marinette?”_

Alya closed her eyes. “No. No, I swear, I don’t mean to just use you for your information. Marinette…Marinette can’t help me with this. I think you can. You’re good at figuring things out and putting connections together, and you’d be coming at this from a different perspective than me. I need your help. Please? You want to get to the bottom of this too, don’t you?”

_“All right. I’ll see you in an hour.”_

Alya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and opened her eyes. “Thank you. Really. Thank you. I’ll see you then. Bye.” She hung up before she could change her mind. Not showing up wasn’t an option, not when she needed Sabrina on her side. She had to go now.

Alya dropped her cell phone on her desk and put her head in her hands, hoping she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.


	14. Part XIV: Nino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that while this chapter has a lighter tone than anything else in the story so far, it still **contains a sideways mention of suicide**.

The ring had changed.

That wasn’t exactly something Nino could deny, because the change itself wasn’t exactly subtle. The ring Adrien had found, the ring Nino had put on and taken off again, had been silver. _It had been silver_. And now it wasn’t.

Now, it was a polished black, with a bright green paw print set into its face.

Now, it looked scarily similar to Chat Noir’s ring.

Scarily similar, mostly, because Nino _was_ scared, even if he hadn’t been about to admit that to Alya. The ring was _too_ similar, and it shouldn’t be, because it _should_ be a simple silver ring.

And changes in this city were not necessarily a good thing.

He remembered the Copycat incident.

What if this is how that had started? With a lookalike ring? He’d always assumed it had begun a different way, but what if he’d been wrong? He didn’t want to turn into an evil Chat Noir. And with the absence of the real Chat Noir, having a lookalike turn up would be a big plus for the bad guys. For all Nino knew, not even Ladybug was around to try to clear Chat Noir’s name this time.

Nino knew his fear was probably unreasonable, especially considering that the ring had looked innocent enough earlier.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to touch it.

Hanging up on Alya hadn’t been the smartest move, but when he’d noticed the change in the ring, he’d forgotten whatever he’d been about to say to her. Because _rings weren’t supposed to change like that_. 

He’d ended up skipping supper—his mother had readily believed he wasn’t hungry after what had happened with Adrien, though she’d sent a plate of food up to his room anyway—and now sat on his bed, staring at the ring. He half expected to blink and realize that it was silver after all, that he’d been imagining this entire thing, but the realistic part of him knew he wasn’t that lucky.

Magic had been a part of Paris long before Ladybug and Chat Noir had shown up, but he had never wanted to get any closer to it than he already had. He didn’t need to remember the Bubbler incident to know he didn’t want to repeat it. And that ring….

It had changed.

And he didn’t know why.

And even if he _could_ call up Adrien right now, which he couldn’t, he couldn’t exactly say, “Hey, so, that ring of yours—does it change colour?” Or, even more bluntly, “Dude, are you involved with Chat Noir somehow?”

His mind had, unfortunately, been providing him with a million reasons for why some of Alya’s theories could be correct—like how Adrien could be Chat Noir, an idea she’d floated by him almost a year ago now—and he wasn’t as thrilled about the idea as he’d thought he might be.

Maybe it was because it didn’t bode well for the whole ‘Adrien thinks he killed his father thing’, maybe because Nino didn’t like the idea that Adrien had been able to fool him for so long, or maybe just because he didn’t like the idea of what it meant that Adrien wasn’t Chat Noir anymore. Nino wasn’t sure. He just knew he felt uneasy.

Teenage life wasn’t ever simple, but wasn’t it supposed to be simpler than this? Something without magic and superheroes and secrets and suddenly finding out you had turned into a supervillain and had tried to send every adult into the stratosphere?

Nino reached out and poked the ring with one finger.

Nothing happened.

No dark magic raced over him to transform him into someone else, and there was no change in colouring back to the normal silver.

At least, he assumed it was supposed to be silver. Whenever he’d seen it, it had always been silver. He’d figured that that was its default state. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe—

He picked up the ring and held it.

Still nothing.

Nino let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Maybe this ring wasn’t evil after all. He didn’t think Adrien would have a cursed ring or anything like that, or at least if he did, he wouldn’t have insisted that it was now Nino’s ring without at least warning him, but he hadn’t been wholly sure that it had been Adrien’s ring in the first place. He still didn’t know who had left it for him. Adrien hadn’t said anything about the note. And Adrien definitely hadn’t known about the ring being here, which might just rule out the theory that Adrien was Chat Noir if that actually _was_ Chat Noir’s ring.

But…what did it mean if it was?

Nino heard the knock at the door, the soft murmur as his mother answered, and then, “Nino! Marinette’s here to see you!”

“Coming!” he called back, and he shoved the ring into his pocket for safekeeping. He was fairly confident it wouldn’t overtake him, and he didn’t want to try explaining this to Marinette.

Not that he had any idea why she was here, anyway.

“Hey, Nino,” she said when he reached the door. She was standing just inside but hadn’t even taken off her coat. “Sorry for dropping by unannounced; I just thought I’d see how you were doing.”

Oh.

 _That_ was why she was here.

“Alya told you.” It wasn’t a guess, wasn’t even a question, but Marinette nodded anyway. “Look, I appreciate you coming by to cheer me up, but—” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” interrupted Marinette. “Alya told me everything. That’s not on you. Adrien’s in a bad spot right now. It would have happened with any of us.”

No, it wouldn’t have, because Adrien had been relatively fine—or at least doing a decent job of faking it—until he’d found the ring. No one else had had the ring, so that _was_ on Nino, because he’d asked Adrien to look in his desk. Where he’d kept the ring. The ring that was supposed to be kept a secret. And had now changed colour, meaning it definitely wasn’t a normal ring, even if it had been Adrien’s. Or Chat Noir’s.

Nino sighed. “I know. Alya said as much. I still feel awful, though.” He held up a hand before Marinette could voice her protests. “I know, I know. Not my fault.” As far as she or Alya knew, anyway. “I’ll feel better once I talk to Adrien, which won’t be tonight. If you and Alya want to mother me, feel free to do so tomorrow after that disaster.”

Marinette frowned. “It won’t be a disaster.”

“You don’t know that.” She didn’t even know the half of it.

“I know Adrien.”

She didn’t know Adrien, either, if Adrien was actually Chat Noir. Or had been. None of them knew him as well as they’d thought. “Still.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? A walk might clear your head.”

That might be true, but he didn’t want to get Marinette involved in this. Especially not right now. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to be involved if he wasn’t already involved; no sense dragging her into it. Or Alya. Especially Alya. “Maybe tomorrow. I think I just need to sleep on this.”

The look Marinette gave him told him she didn’t believe that for a second, but since she was nice, she didn’t push it. “Okay. Call me if you change your mind, all right?” She knew him well enough to know he’d turn down her offer to stay and talk here, too, thankfully. He hated lying to her. She was so…wide-eyed and innocent. In contrast to Alya, who _would_ have called him on the lie and torn him apart to get the truth—or at least dug until she was satisfied that he wasn’t just saying he didn’t want help when he actually did. Maybe Marinette’s intuition allowed her to stop before Alya. Or maybe Alya just kept going as far as she could because she was terribly curious.

Marinette still lingered, trying to keep him talking in the hope that he would change his mind, but he finally got rid of her and managed to escape upstairs before either of his parents decided to check in on him. 

He sat down cross-legged on his bed, pulled the ring out of his pocket, and placed it about a foot in front of him.

It hadn’t decided to return to silver, and he was beginning to suspect it wouldn’t, at least not on its own. But what had made it change _from_ silver in the first place? It couldn’t just be handling it; he’d touched it before, and obviously so had Adrien. And if it really _was_ Chat Noir’s ring, if Adrien really _was_ Chat Noir, then wasn’t it only supposed to look like that when, well, _Chat Noir_ was wearing the ring?

Apparently not.

Unless it was broken.

But Nino didn’t _think_ it was broken. Granted, he didn’t know how a ring could break, unless it was something like the band wearing through, but the only ring he’d ever seen change colour before this was a mood ring, and that didn’t count.

Against his better judgement, he picked up the ring and slid it onto his finger.

He blinked.

The ring was silver again.

“Is there any cheese in that?” a voice said next to his ear.

Nino yelped and fell off his bed in the scramble to get away, ending up on his hands and knees and tangled in a quilt. By the time he’d turned over so he was sitting down and had kicked his legs free and really regained his senses enough to comprehend what he was looking at, there was a…a… _thing_ hovering above his untouched supper. 

It looked vaguely like a cat.

A black cat with bright green eyes.

If cats could talk and fly and had antennae instead of whiskers, anyway. 

“Nino? Is everything okay?”

The not-cat-thing turned to him. “You can’t tell them about me. You can’t tell anyone.”

Nino stared at it.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

The creature dove under his bed, flying _through_ the mattress in a burst of black magic.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, and he heard his mother say, “Nino?”

“I’m…fine,” he managed. “Just…saw a…bird. It hit the window. Startled me. I fell off the bed.”

His mom probably didn’t believe that, but she accepted the excuse anyway, and he was beyond thankful that he had parents who were willing to give him his privacy.

The creature reappeared as his mother’s footsteps faded away. “My name is Plagg,” it said. The name sounded familiar, but Nino’s brain refused to tell him why; it was mostly refusing to work in general, which wasn’t helpful. The catlike creature pointed to the plate of chicken cordon bleu again. “Any cheese?”

Nino tried to find his voice. It _really_ looked like a cat. Except cats didn’t eat cheese. At least no cat he’d met had ever eaten cheese. Could cats even eat cheese?

The creature—no, Plagg, it had said its name was Plagg, and come to think of it, _it_ had sounded like a _he_ —had apparently given up on him and decided to eat his dinner anyway.

Plagg had tiny little fangs but could apparently swallow most food whole.

That wasn’t entirely comforting.

Plagg finished eating, yawned, and floated towards him. Nino jerked away, half crab-walking and half scooting, and Plagg stopped. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

Nino was too confused to try to figure out if he really believed that, but Plagg hadn’t done anything threatening, so it was probably true. “What _are_ you?”

“I’m a kwami,” Plagg said. “I grant powers.”

Nino had never heard of a kwami—maybe it was another name for a genie?—so he settled on the second part: powers. “Like…flying and stuff?”

“Destruction.”

Nino swallowed. Destruction was Chat Noir’s power. He’d seen Cataclysm in action more than once. “Oh,” he said, very quietly. He wasn’t sure what to do with this. Plagg definitely had something to do with Chat Noir, but Nino was _not_ Chat Noir, so why was he here? 

“Any chance you have any camembert downstairs?” the kwami asked.

Nino blinked. “Camembert?”

“Yes. Camembert. The cheese of kings. The most deli—”

“I know what camembert is!” Nino hastily interrupted. “I just…. Didn’t you _just_ eat?”

“I can _always_ eat camembert. It’s my favourite. You need to get some. This isn’t going to work if you don’t get some.”

Wait. “What isn’t going to work?”

Plagg crossed his arms, something Nino hadn’t thought him able to do until that moment. “Our partnership. What else?”

Nino wasn’t sure if the kwami was kidding. He didn’t know if it— _he_ —had a sense of humour. “Partnership?” Nino repeated. “You don’t even know who I am!”

Plagg snorted, another thing Nino hadn’t expected, so he just accepted that he should stop making assumptions, especially when it came to what was apparently some sort of magical creature that he hadn’t thought actually existed until he’d met one. Well, thinking they’d existed implied that he’d heard of them. He hadn’t. He wasn’t even sure there was a _them_ , but if Plagg was Chat Noir’s partner, it would make sense that Ladybug worked with a kwami, too. 

“You’re Nino Lahiffe,” the kwami was saying, “and you apparently aren’t that good at keeping secrets, so we’ll need to work on that.”

“ _What_?” How did Plagg know his name? And what was with that accusation about not being about to keep a secret?

“Well, you can’t tell anyone,” Plagg reasoned, “and you can’t let them find out, either. It’s the preventative measures part you need a bit of work on. I’ll let it slide if you decide you want to tell Ladybug, but Tikki would advise against it.”

“Who’s Tikki?” No, wait, that wasn’t the question he’d meant to ask. “How do you know who I am?”

Plagg sighed. “You’re Adrien’s best friend.”

Nino suddenly found it very difficult to breathe, but he managed to force the words out. “Then it’s true? Adrien is Chat Noir?”

Plagg shook his head. “No. _You_ are, if you accept it.”

“Wait, what? But I thought—”

“This isn’t how it usually works,” Plagg interrupted. “I didn’t expect Adrien to make the transfer. I’ll have to tell Master Fu what happened. Assuming you accept.”

“Assuming I—?” This was way too much information at once. Nino finally sat down properly, crossing his legs and straightening up, and Plagg moved closer and dropped down so that he was hovering at Nino’s eye level. “I just…. I need a minute.” He could grill Plagg about Adrien after he’d worked this part out; at least that would be somewhat familiar ground. “Who’s Master Fu?”

“The Guardian,” Plagg said, very unhelpfully. Then, “It’s his job to choose the Miraculous Wielders. Usually. Unless something like this happens. Or they’re stolen.”

“But this was stolen, wasn’t it? I mean, I just found it here with this note—”

“That was me,” admitted Plagg. “I wanted a bit more time, so I hid it. Here. Except you did a worse job of keeping it a secret than I’d anticipated.”

“Wait, you can write? But you’re….”

“A kwami, yes, and no, that’s not a skill we usually set out to master, but sometimes it comes in handy. Listen, I should tell you the rules—”

“Wait, hold on, I’m not….” Nino shut his eyes. “Okay, so this wasn’t supposed to happen, right? It was a mistake? You’re not supposed to be here? You’re supposed to be with Adrien?”

“Wayzz thought it was safer if Adrien didn’t have the ring, but I didn’t want to leave, so I gave it to you for safekeeping. What I didn’t expect was for Adrien to give _you_ the ring. Which is why I’ll have some explaining to do. Are we clear now?”

No. He had no clue who Wayzz was supposed to be, although it sounded like he hung around this Master Fu guy. Nino opened his eyes and nodded anyway. “Yeah, but…why me?”

“You’re Adrien’s best friend,” Plagg repeated, “and I needed someone who could be trusted.”

“To be Chat Noir? Instead of Adrien?”

“To keep my Miraculous safe.”

“But Adrien really is—was—Chat Noir?” Plagg had heavily hinted at that, but he hadn’t confirmed it, and Nino wanted to be sure. For all he knew, Adrien had just been holding onto the ring before Nino—but that was pretty unlikely, given that Adrien had worn the ring all the time.

“It’s probably best you don’t talk to him about that right now.” 

It still wasn’t a confirmation, but Nino suspected that was as much of one as he was going to get. “So why exactly did you have to give me the ring in the first place? Why couldn’t Adrien keep it?”

“The past hasn’t set a pretty precedent.”

“The pa—?” But Nino’s brain caught up to his mouth. “Adrien wouldn’t do that!”

“I don’t think so, but it’s not worth the risk.”

Oh, _god_ , someone had actually—? No, he _really_ didn’t want to think about that. Nino shuddered. Destruction and—? _No_ , not thinking about it. “Right. Okay. So I’m still mostly just hanging onto this until Adrien wants it back, then?” He waved his right hand to emphasize the ring.

Plagg shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But Adrien—”

“Adrien has nothing to do with this,” interrupted Plagg. “He won’t unless you choose to involve him. You hold the ring, not Adrien.”

Right. So he was technically Chat Noir. Or could be if he wanted to be. Nino still wasn’t sure how to take that; this still felt messed up. Especially because, well, if Adrien had been Chat Noir, then the idea that he’d had a hand in killing his father? That really wasn’t so farfetched. Wasn’t like it being an accident would make it any less deadly. Although Chloé was right—and he hadn’t thought he’d ever admit that, even to himself—in thinking that anything that happened within a normal fight with Ladybug and Chat Noir was reversed. Technically, even if the possibility existed, it shouldn’t mean anything.

But Adrien was the sort of person who would blame himself for not being there. If he and Ladybug had been out saving the city, and his father had collapsed at home and no one had noticed? Yeah. Adrien might believe he was responsible then. He’d be wrong, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t blame himself. And Ladybug’s reversal magic never seemed to touch anything not damaged as a result of their fights.

Which meant Adrien really might be dealing with as much guilt as grief right now, and Adrien couldn’t explain anything to anyone because he probably didn’t even have an excuse for being absent in the first place. And it was unlikely Nino could say anything to convince him that it wasn’t his fault just for being absent, assuming he was actually allowed to tell Adrien what he’d figured out. Although he didn’t see why he couldn’t. It wasn’t like him being with Plagg right now was a secret from Adrien.

But, man, if Adrien had been Chat Noir, then he’d been right under Alya’s nose the entire time and had actually been able to laugh off her accusations. It was _not_ easy to keep a secret from that girl. Nino wished he knew how Adrien had done it. Alya was definitely going to be after him for an explanation—there was absolutely no way she was going to let him get away with cutting her off without telling her why—and she wasn’t likely to go easy on him and pretend to buy any excuse he offered her. 

“Well?”

Nino blinked. He hadn’t realized Plagg had been talking. “Um, sorry, I missed that.”

“The basics are simple,” Plagg said in the tone of someone who had been through this a million times before. “You say claws out to transform. Once you use Cataclysm, you have five minutes before you transform back, or you can just say claws in. So do you want to do this?”

“Do I want to be Chat Noir?” Plagg didn’t dignify that with an answer, so Nino looked down at his hands. More specifically, at the ring he was wearing. He still didn’t feel like it was his. “I mean, I’d like to help people, but…. I don’t want to take this away from Adrien, you know? He sounded really broken up over losing you.” At least _that_ made sense now, and it wasn’t entirely his fault after all. “Maybe I can just do this temporarily, until Adrien’s ready to take you back?”

A quick look at Plagg proved that the kwami was adept at looking pained—eyes closed, tail flicking, and antennae twitching as if Nino’s words physically hurt. “This isn’t a temporary thing. Another evil might rise up to take Hawk Moth’s place, and you’d need to be ready.”

“Whoa, wait, they beat Hawk Moth? That’s why no one’s been transforming anymore? It’s actually true? That’s awesome!” 

“No,” Plagg said, opening his eyes again. “Not _awesome_. Just finished. And maybe everything is over for now. Maybe this city doesn’t need a hero anymore. But we don’t know that, and I haven’t heard specifically from either Wayzz or Tikki that it’s time to go back.”

Nino was tempted to ask where Plagg would go back to but decided now wasn’t the time. Something in Plagg’s tone had changed. He wasn’t just exasperated; he sounded hurt himself. And a bit bitter. If Nino wasn’t convinced that it would be a very bad idea to do so, he’d ask exactly what had gone down in this fight against Hawk Moth. 

Instead, he tried to steer the conversation back to what had seemed like safer waters. “Okay, but what if I say I don’t want to be Chat Noir? What if I tell you to just go back to Adrien and pretend he never found the ring here? Or what if I just give it back to him instead of hanging onto it? Then everything works out for you, right?”

Plagg was shaking his head. “Wayzz will know about the transfer. He’ll know about this transfer. He won’t know exactly who you are, but he’ll be able to figure it out. Or at least, Tikki will, even if I don’t tell them. And if I go back to Adrien, I’ll be recalled. They won’t let me get away with this again. It’s too risky. You already know more than you were supposed to because of what I’ve done.”

Nino frowned. His head was starting to ache with the effort of sorting this out. “But didn’t you say you’d have to tell them anyway? So why don’t you just tell me where to find them and we can sort this out?” When Plagg didn’t answer immediately, Nino added, “What? Is that such a bad idea?”

Plagg muttered something, but all Nino caught was something that sounded suspiciously like _camembert_. 

“Look, let’s just deal with this tomorrow,” Nino suggested. “Once we sleep on it, things will make more sense.” Hopefully. He reached for the ring on his finger—

“Wait, n—!”

—and suddenly Plagg was gone. 

Nino looked down. The ring he held was black again. He realized the paw on its face matched Plagg’s eyes. And Chat Noir’s. He should have realized what the ring was earlier, but in his defense, he was still mostly new to the whole magic thing.

Still, he could figure this out. Whoever had the ring and worked with Plagg was Chat Noir, which nixed the whole idea that he and Ladybug were thousands of years old. Adrien used to be Chat Noir, but from what Plagg had said, that didn’t mean he knew who the current Ladybug was. Assuming she was still around. Although, it sounded like she was, at least if he was interpreting Plagg’s words correctly. And that meant, if he did do this, there would be someone who could help him figure things out.

Plagg seemed convinced he couldn’t just give the ring back to Adrien _or_ just go stay with him while Nino kept the ring. Nino could understand arguments for the first scenario right now, sure, but he was pretty sure there was some unwritten rule Plagg wasn’t telling him about the second. Which really made him think that as much as Plagg had told him, it hadn’t really even scratched the surface of what Nino really needed to know.

Which meant he could accept and go into this blind or he could try to talk to this Wayzz and Master Fu and argue Adrien’s case.

It wasn’t that Nino was against being a superhero.

It was just that he didn’t think he was supposed to be Chat Noir.

Plagg had made it pretty clear that he hadn’t expected this to happen, that things weren’t supposed to be this way. And he obviously wasn’t sure how well this was going to go over with everyone else, even though he seemed to think that as long as Nino wanted it, that’s how this was going to be. 

Unwritten rules.

Plagg had even said he hadn’t wanted to leave Adrien yet, so he shouldn’t be fighting Nino when all Nino was trying to do was figure out how to get them back together. Plagg might be willing to work with him, but that didn’t mean he’d be happy, and Nino didn’t want to keep him here if he wasn’t happy. Especially since reuniting Adrien and Plagg might make Adrien happy. The last thing Nino wanted was to give his friend more reason to be miserable. 

He just didn’t….

Nino groaned. “I think I need to wing this,” he muttered. He put the ring back on, and as he’d suspected, Plagg reappeared.

“Change of heart?” The kwami might try to look like he didn’t care, but Nino could hear the wariness in Plagg’s voice.

“Tell me where to find Wayzz and Master Fu,” Nino said. “I want to talk to them.”

Plagg’s antennae quivered, which didn’t exactly fill Nino with confidence that he was doing the right thing. “I really don’t think—”

“Please?”

An agitated tail flick. “This really isn’t—”

“Please, Plagg. Tell me.”

Plagg’s ears twitched, but he talked, and Nino kept asking questions until he was confident he wouldn’t get lost or accidentally kill himself on the way. Still, it was clear enough that Plagg hated this idea. By the time Nino stood up and walked to his bedroom window to open it, Plagg was still trying to talk him out of going.

It didn’t matter.

Nino had already made up his mind.

He looked at the silver ring on his hand, swallowed, and turned back to the kwami who was hovering behind him. He smiled apologetically. “I’ve got my wallet, but I can’t promise you’re going to get any camembert at the end of this.”

“Nino—”

“No, I think I need to do this. But…thank you for being honest with me.” He had a feeling honesty was going to be hard to come by for a while. 

This time, Plagg didn’t say anything. He just waited.

Nino took a deep breath, let it out, and then called, “Plagg, claws out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of curiosity, did this turn of events surprise anyone or did you all see it coming?


	15. Part XV: Marinette

Marinette was dragging her feet on her way home. She knew that even if she went back to Adrien’s place, Nathalie wouldn’t let her in. Nathalie hadn’t even answered when she’d buzzed, but the woman Marinette had spoken to had informed her that Nathalie was sitting with Adrien—which meant there was no point in Marinette transforming to sneak in to visit Adrien. That would invite more questions than she wanted to answer.

She could, however, turn around and go back to Nino’s.

He’d made it clear he didn’t want her, but she didn’t get the feeling that it was for the reasons he’d stated.

“Do you think I should go back, Tikki?”

Tikki knew exactly who she was talking about, as she’d been weighing her options for the last ten minutes. Marinette had opened her purse so she could more easily converse with the kwami, but despite the lack of crowds, Tikki had chosen to remain in her hiding spot. “That’s your decision, Marinette.”

Which wasn’t an answer. “I know, but.... Maybe…maybe you should go back, just to see. It wouldn’t take long to figure out if he needs me.”

“Do you want me to go?”

That meant Tikki was willing but didn’t approve. Marinette sighed. “I don’t know. Didn’t you get the feeling that he was distracted?” He’d been worried about Adrien, yes, but there had been something else…. She didn’t know what. 

Alya hadn’t told her the whole story; Nino’s demeanour had made that clear. And if Alya hadn’t passed on the whole story, then Nino hadn’t told her, and he wasn’t likely to tell Marinette if he hadn’t told Alya. And she couldn’t very well get the story out of Adrien; she didn’t even dare risk sending Tikki to check up on him if Nathalie was there.

What was more troublesome was that she wasn’t certain whether the secret was something she should know—for Adrien’s sake, since she was sure it was still connected to him. She knew everyone was trying to be there for him, but no one else knew, and she…. She needed to do what she could to protect him.

She still felt awful about what had happened. He was always the gentleman, insisting it wasn’t her fault, but it had taken her weeks to get him to stop trying to take the blame for it himself. Not that she was really sure he had; he’d simply stopped saying that in front of her. 

Really, though, she felt like she hadn’t done as her father had advised. She hadn’t done anything to make amends, not really, not where it counted, because Adrien, her Chat Noir, he….

He had never lied to her. Not directly. Not as far as she could tell.

But that had been Before.

She wasn’t so sure about Now.

She didn’t want to doubt him, but she’d seen how broken up he’d looked when he’d thought he’d lost Plagg, and she’d seen how easily he could slip on a mask in the days since. She felt like she’d done so little for him, but she didn’t know what she could do. Alya was trying to be very good about giving her the space she’d asked for, but…. How was she supposed to help Adrien through this when she had no idea what he needed? He wouldn’t tell her, but he might not even know. She wasn’t sure she knew what she really needed.

Maybe a friend who would give her straight answers. Tikki had been terrible for that as of late. Sometimes, Marinette thought she could do with less blind support and more structured direction. “Maybe it’s not Nino,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m reading more into this because I’m still on edge about Adrien.”

She was very careful not to ask Tikki about what had happened in the past now, although she made sure to give the kwami plenty of opportunities to bring it up herself. Tikki seemed to dislike answering direct questions about the past. At least, Marinette had come to realize that they almost always ended up on an entirely different topic within minutes of her first question, and she never seemed to gain much information in those first few vital seconds.

Tikki might seem like an open book, but she could be awfully tight-lipped when she wanted to be.

“This isn’t your fault, Marinette.” Tikki had been repeating those words for weeks. “You fought. You won. You knew you couldn’t always do so without loss. Try to be thankful that the situation isn’t worse than it is.”

Sometimes, for someone who must have seen so much and be so wise, Marinette was convinced Tikki didn’t know anything.

And then she thought about what Tikki must have already witnessed to have become this way, and the thought sobered her. Because Tikki was right. It _could_ be worse. This wasn’t a scoreboard to keep track of wins and losses; this was real life, and mistakes were costly. Her mistakes, and Adrien’s, and everyone else’s. One poor decision or quick, ill-thought action could be amended—or it could have disastrous consequences. There was no way to know until it was too late. 

Just like they hadn’t known about Hawk Moth.

She’d been going over it in her head for weeks, trying to figure out if there was a way they could have known, but there had never been enough clues. There had only been a hastily executed plan and enough bad luck for two lifetimes.

If not more.

She didn’t pretend that she really understood what Adrien was going through. She certainly didn’t pretend that she knew how he felt—now or in that horrific moment—or try to downplay it. She tried not to assume, but she suspected she failed at that rather miserably. Even Tikki had admitted that Adrien seemed to be curling in on himself rather than sharing what he felt, so guesses were often all Marinette had.

Guesses, and the knowledge that they had kept secret from everyone else.

Tikki hadn’t said they could tell anyone now. Granted, Marinette hadn’t asked, not directly, but Tikki always hid whenever her parents were about or when Alya dropped by, she kept quiet all through school, and she never strayed far. Marinette hadn’t transformed since her flight to Adrien’s house, but Tikki’s constant presence meant she thought it might still be a possibility, and Marinette doubted Tikki’s reasons for staying close were the same as hers. 

It was like Tikki thought this was the beginning rather than the end.

Considering that most days, Marinette had moments that she wanted to scream but couldn’t find the breath for crying, she didn’t want to think about what Tikki feared might be coming next.

She wasn’t ready.

Neither of them was.

Adrien didn’t even have his Miraculous.

“We need help, Tikki,” Marinette admitted. “We can’t do this by ourselves.” She finally stopped walking and plucked Tikki out of her purse to hold her up to eye level. “There must be someone else who knows about this. Someone gave your Miraculous to me, and Plagg’s to Adrien. That time that you were ill and needed help— That man must surely know something.”

“Master Fu.”

“Can he help? Can we talk to him?”

“It’s not that simple, Marinette.”

“Why not?” 

Tikki opened her mouth, but a shriek startled them both before she could answer. Marinette spun, looking for the source of the sound, but it was Tikki who found it first. “There,” she said, pointing at the shadow that was clinging to the edge of a rooftop. 

Marinette’s heart jumped into her throat. She retreated in search of cover and finally crouched behind a trash bin. It wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t have time. “Tikki, spots on!”

Her yo-yo took her to the rooftops in seconds, making it easier to find her aerial path toward the figure. On her final swing, though, she froze. _It was Chat Noir_. It couldn’t be—Adrien didn’t have his ring—but she’d know him anywhere, and below him was his fallen baton, and—

No.

It wasn’t Adrien.

This was Chat Noir, but not _her_ Chat Noir.

She’d lost her momentum, so Marinette dropped to the ground. She picked up Chat Noir’s baton—he had probably extended it earlier, but it had collapsed on impact—and threw out her yo-yo so she could get to the roof herself and rescue this kitty.

When she was finally above him, keeping a firm grip on the taut yo-yo cord with her left hand, she reached down with her right. “Give me your hand.”

Scared brown eyes, rimmed with Chat Noir’s familiar green, stared back at her. “L-Ladybug?”

She pulled him to safety, handed him back his baton, put away her own weapon, and let him catch his breath on the side off the roof. She didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure she trusted herself to speak anymore.

She might not have seen it if she didn’t know how this worked. If she didn’t know, she might not have thought to look. But she did know, so she could see, and she could see him more plainly than she had ever seen Adrien.

She knew this Chat Noir.

It wasn’t his identity that surprised her, not really. What surprised her was how much seeing him _hurt_. She looked out at the skyline instead, hoping he couldn’t see the tears that threatened to fall.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m N— I’m new at this.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“I misjudged the angle, I guess, and collided with the edge, and kinda…dropped the staff.”

“It can take a bit of getting used to.” She knew she had had a fair bit of trouble at first, not trusting her yo-yo or believing in its capabilities, but as far as she had ever been able to tell, Adrien had taken to this like a fish to water.

Her new partner laughed nervously. “I…I didn’t know if you were still around. I’m glad you are.”

Marinette took a breath, realized she couldn’t say anything, and simply let it out again.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m not who I’m supposed to be. Chat Noir, I mean. I’m not supposed to be Chat Noir.”

“Don’t say that.” Why couldn’t she bring herself to look at him? “You have your Miraculous for a reason.”

“Actually, I’m not so sure about that.”

Something that might have been a laugh escaped her lips. “Try to believe in yourself. It’s a lesson I learned, to trust myself and my partner so that I could do what was right.”

“You doubted yourself?” 

The incredulity in his voice almost made her want to laugh again. “Chat Noir—the previous Chat Noir, I mean—had more faith in me than I did at first.” She swallowed; the correction had been a painful one. “I was ready to pass along my Miraculous to someone else, someone that I thought was much better suited to this than me.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

There was a beat of silence, as if he were waiting for her to continue. “May I ask why?”

“I realized I needed to be Ladybug.” 

She didn’t want to get into the details. He must have realized that because he merely hummed in agreement before changing the subject. “Look, I don’t know how to say this, but if you don’t see me again, don’t worry, okay?”

Confusion finally had her turn to look him in the eye. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to fix this,” he said. “Like you always do. I’m going to make this right.”

She spoke slowly, careful to keep her voice even. “Why are you so convinced this isn’t already right?”

“Because I know things aren’t supposed to be this way. And Plagg, he’s the, uh, kami—”

“Kwami.”

“Yeah, that. He told me who I should talk to. So I’m going to sort this out. If I can survive getting there, anyway.” He gave her a shaky smile. “Maybe I should just go back to street level.”

“No, I’ll help you get the hang of this. We might both need you to know it, despite what you think.” She climbed to her feet, braced herself on the slope of the roof, and held out her hand again. “Come on, Chat Noir.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him by any of the pet names she’d had for Adrien. Certainly not yet, even if she managed it in the future. 

He still looked reluctant. “I’m not Chat Noir.”

“You are now.” 

He sighed but took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. “But how can you trust me to be your partner when you don’t even know me?”

_I do know you_. “You’ll get the hang of things faster than you think, and I already trust that you’ll do your best. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, just…. You’re _Ladybug_ ,” he blurted. “You’re _amazing_. And I’m not. I’m just a kid.”

“You’re someone with a hero’s heart,” she countered, “or you wouldn’t be here with me right now. Now, have you figured out how to work your baton?”

She ran him through the basics anyway and made him practice until he was comfortable with it. It wasn’t just splitting it in two or extending it; he needed to know things like how to call her or someone else and how to access its map and GPS coordinates, because while he said Plagg had tried to explain this to him, he hadn’t understood any of it.

He had a good arm, and after a few trials, he realized his staff would go where he wanted when he threw it and how it could come back to him like a boomerang. He hadn’t wanted to really trust it to hold him when it was magically adhered to the wall, but she had him tug at her mask like Lady WiFi had done to prove her point: the baton wouldn’t be going anywhere until he wanted it to. And, while she proved that he could spin it fast enough to deflect small pebbles, he still refused to attempt helicoptering with it. 

“I’m not _him_ , the real Chat Noir. My arms won’t take that.”

“But the magic—”

“I doubt my muscles, not the magic.”

She put her hands on his shoulders. “You’re stronger than you think. I never imagined I could have the endurance I do, but that’s because I’m not just relying on me; I’m relying on Tikki. If you don’t trust yourself, trust Plagg.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Plagg?” he repeated. “But Plagg just…eats everything in sight and asks for more.”

“Because when we transform, we’re drawing on their energy, and they need to replenish it. That’s why you only have five minutes after you use Cataclysm before you lose your transformation entirely. Didn’t Plagg—?”

“Yes, he told me that, too. Believe me, I asked a lot of questions. I just….” He threw up his arms, easily dislodging her grip. “I don’t know. I’m not ready for this. This isn’t me. It’s supposed to be Adrien!” His eyes widened when he realized what he’d said, and he immediately backed away. “Um, did you, uh….”

“I know,” she replied quietly, “but I haven’t for long. We built our partnership without ever knowing who was beneath the mask.”

“So then everything people said—”

“We’re not dating,” she said dryly. “We always tried to keep our personal lives separate, tucked out of view, so that we wouldn’t give the other one too many clues about who we might be in case we knew each other outside of this.”

“But, uh, wouldn’t you realize that anyway? From how you look? Or sound?”

Marinette let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I wish we had. Some things would have been simpler, and others might’ve been avoided altogether.” She sighed, remembering Tikki’s warnings. “But things might have been much worse, too.”

There was a beat of silence. “Worse than they are?” her partner finally ventured.

“With our luck.” Tikki had described _worse_ to her before, and Marinette didn’t want to get into the details now. She hadn’t brought it up to Adrien; she hadn’t thought he needed that. But she was still trying to use that knowledge to feel a little better about the horrible situation.

It wasn’t okay.

It probably wouldn’t ever feel okay.

But it wasn’t the end of the world, and that was something.

Even if it still felt like the end of Adrien’s world.

She needed to distract herself before those thoughts caught up to her and had a chance to settle. “Follow me,” she ordered, and she took off running as if she could leave behind her guilt and her doubt, her grief and her despair. She was _Ladybug_. Adrien might not be able to be Chat Noir, but she was still Ladybug. She still held a responsibility to be the hero Paris needed, even if they had defeated Hawk Moth.

“Wait!” The cry came from behind her even as her feet left the rooftop and she swung out on her yo-yo. “I’m not…. Hold on!”

She couldn’t fix this.

The new Chat Noir certainly couldn’t fix this, whatever he thought.

It wasn’t something any of them could fix.

“Ladybug!”

Marinette’s chest hurt, and her exertion wasn’t masking that ache. She pressed on. He was following her. More importantly, he was keeping up to her. She could tell that much, even if he hadn’t caught her. It was a start.

But because it was only a start, only _the_ start, she changed her trajectory and headed for Notre Dame rather than the Eiffel Tower; it would make for an easier landing point. This Chat Noir hadn’t found his feet quite yet.

Her partner landed beside her a moment later, looking shaky and out of breath. “What were you _thinking_?” he gasped.

She turned a small smile on him and spoke the acceptable part of the truth, the part that held no pain in its acknowledgement. “That if you followed me, you might focus more on keeping me in sight than on how impossible following me seemed.”

He frowned at her. “That doesn’t explain why you just suddenly took off like that.”

“Sure it does. If I’d given you warning, you might have overthought things, maybe even convinced yourself that you couldn’t do it. But you can. You just proved that to yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he allowed, “but you still look….” He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t mean to pry, but I want to be here for you if I can be, okay? Until your real partner is back.”

“Chat Noir _is_ my partner. And that’s you.”

“But it shouldn’t be. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. But I guess you’re right, too, because I _am_ your partner until things get sorted out, so maybe, uh….” He swallowed. “Maybe try to talk to me? If you need it? Adrien…. Adrien’s going through a rough patch right now, something really bad, but he doesn’t really want to talk to me about it, y’know? And I don’t know what to do. When I try to do something, I just make things worse. But everyone always says talking about stuff helps. And you…. You look like you need to talk.”

So he could see it on her face, then.

He could see how much she felt like breaking down and crying.

He thought he wouldn’t be a good partner, but he already knew her better than he realized, and she was fairly certain he hadn’t figured out who she was.

“I’m fine,” she said thickly, forcing the words past the lump forming in her throat.

“Um…am I supposed to pretend to believe that or call you on it?”

She tried to smile, wasn’t sure she managed it, and instead held her breath to try to hold in the sobs. Whatever Plagg had told him, he still didn’t _know_. And he didn’t deserve to be burdened with this. He shouldn’t have to imagine the feathery feeling of blackened akuma covering them both, blotting out their vision even if they could never take hold. He shouldn’t have to imagine the desperation of their fight, what had driven her to call out to Chat Noir or him to obey, or the fatigue—had it been fatigue or fortune?—that had led to the mistake. He hadn’t seen the mask burn away, didn’t still have M. Agreste’s expression seared into his memory, couldn’t imagine Adrien’s horror at the discovery.

He wasn’t carrying the guilt of the lie, of the cover up.

He didn’t have to pretend that it had only been a heart attack.

He didn’t have to pretend that Adrien’s grief was simply the loss of another parent.

He didn’t have to pretend that he had no good reason to be affected by Adrien’s loss, that he didn’t feel it as much as he did.

He had no twisting guilt in the pit of his stomach that made him feel as he were the most awful person in the entire world. 

She shouldn’t bring him into this, into any of it.

She’d closed her eyes, but tears began to spill down her cheeks anyway. She was facing away from him, but when she began to shake, he came over. “Hey,” he called softly, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Plagg told me you guys beat Hawk Moth. Obviously that wasn’t easy for either of you, but I want to help you, okay? I might not know you as well as I know Adrien, but you’ve done so much good for Paris. Let me be here for you to help repay your kindness for that if I can’t do it as a friend.”

He thought she was hesitant because he was a stranger to her.

Marinette drew a shaky breath and forced herself to face him. “I don’t think you can do much more than you already are.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to steel her resolve. “You are a good friend to Adrien, and you’re willing to protect Paris in his place.”

Her partner hesitated. “Um, about that. I really don’t think—”

“You didn’t have to follow me,” she pointed out. “You could have continued on wherever you were going, but you followed me. Why?”

“Because you told me to!”

“That’s not the real reason.” At least, she hoped it wasn’t.

Sure enough, he shook his head. “No, I guess not. I just…. I dunno. I guess I was worried. About you. No one’s seen you in weeks, you or Chat Noir, and I guess….”

“But Plagg told you we defeated Hawk Moth.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean everything’s instantly better. I mean, look at you. Adrien’s going through some other stuff right now, but you…. You’re still….” He trailed off and then tried again. “It can’t have been easy. I don’t need to know exactly what happened to know that winning that war cost you guys something. One of my friends has been going on and on about your disappearance, and the fact that you showed up now….” He shrugged. “Would you have, if I hadn’t nearly killed myself trying to do this?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette admitted. She’d wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. Transforming was just a reminder of what had happened with Hawk Moth. Of the death she had caused, of the life she had traded. It had been her call, even if it had been by Chat Noir’s hand.

“Well, there you are, then.” He sat down beside her. “Look, I can see that something bad happened, but so did something good. Maybe you need to try focusing on the good. You look like you’ve been forgetting it in favour of the bad.”

“You’re not going to ask, then?”

“I don’t expect you to trust me. Not yet, anyway. Not unless it’s something I need to know.”

Marinette turned and hugged him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But you have to know that it’s not because I don’t trust you. I _do_ trust you. I just don’t think I should be the one to share it with you.”

“Not without consulting your partner?”

“It was our fight,” she said, pulling back. “We were in it together. But the burden of bearing the consequences has fallen to him.”

Her partner winced. “On top of everything else? Poor Adrien. No wonder he…. Never mind. I’m going to help him, even if it’s just in some small way. And I’m going to try to help you, too, and then maybe I’ll actually earn the trust you seem to have in me.”

He stood up, but she grabbed his arm to stop him before he could run off on her. When she got to her feet, she said, “You earned my trust a long time ago.”

“But I haven’t done—”

“Nino.” She was careful to speak his name quietly enough that it wouldn’t carry, but it was enough to freeze the words on his lips. “You’ve never done anything to lose my trust.”

“You…you know who I am?”

She let go of his arm and nodded. “I hadn’t wanted to see the truth with Adrien or I would have realized who he was before, too. At least, I want to think I would have. But I’m not similarly blinded with you.”

“But…you actually know who I am. But I’m a nobody. Not like Adrien.” He frowned. “How do you—?”

“Not here. Tell me where you were going. I’ll take you there. I…I don’t think this can be fixed, but I can’t do this anymore. Not by myself.”

He was still staring at her as if trying to figure out whether or not he knew her. “You really—?”

“I’ll explain as much as I can after.” Tikki wouldn’t be happy, but Marinette really wasn’t sure she could do this anymore. Adrien needed someone. She needed someone. Even together, they were still lost. And…and maybe it would be a step in the right direction, a step toward making things right, toward making amends, as Nino surely thought and as her father had advised her to do.

Besides, even with Nino as her partner, she wasn’t sure how much use she would be when facing an actual fight instead of just a rescue.

Saving someone felt very different from defeating them, even if it came to the same in the end.

“Are you sure? I mean, if you and Adrien didn’t know each other before, then maybe even if you know me, we shouldn’t—”

“No. I’m sure.” She was sure of very little these days, but this felt right somehow and nothing had for so long. “I want to do this.”

Nino deserved to know.

Maybe if he did, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

And maybe he could help, even if she couldn’t tell him everything.

She had to hope that things would get better.


	16. Part XVI: Sabrina

Alya was late. 

Sabrina checked her phone and texted her classmate again, but as far as she could tell, Alya wasn’t reading her messages—which was unusual for Alya, as she typically liked staying pretty close to her phone and therefore her access to the Ladyblog. 

After half an hour of radio silence, Sabrina decided not to waste her time. She’d done this before, waiting on people who never showed, and it hurt every time. Alya had promised she didn’t mean to use Sabrina, but that’s exactly what this felt like. And she didn’t want to get that treatment from Alya, too. 

She was curious about Alya’s theories, but not curious enough to put up with being treated this way.

Sabrina stuffed her books back into her bag. Alya had lost her chance, and that was that. If she’d really wanted Sabrina’s help, she would’ve been here—been early, even. After all, meeting had been _her_ suggestion, and she’d wanted to meet right away, meaning she hadn’t had something on. She had no excuses.

Sabrina met Alya just as she was leaving. The other girl was running up the steps to the library, panting but smiling. “Sorry I’m late,” she gasped, “but you’ll never guess what I saw.”

Sabrina wasn’t in the mood to play games. “That’s probably true,” she muttered, and she started down the steps.

Alya grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Sabrina ground out, ripping her arm free. “If you wanted my help, you shouldn’t have wasted my time.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understa—”

“I understand perfectly!” Sabrina snapped. She blinked back the burn of tears, taking some satisfaction in Alya’s shocked expression. “You can’t treat people like this. Especially not when you want a favour from them. So forget it.”

“Sabrina, I’m sorry.”

“Of course you’re sorry! You still want my help. Well, too bad. I’m going home.” Sabrina turned and stalked away, a manoeuvre she had perfected from watching Chloé. She was probably overreacting, but she was just _so sick of this_. And she didn’t think her anger was completely unjustified. Alya deserved what she got.

“I saw Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Alya blurted out.

Sabrina froze, even though she knew that was exactly what Alya had hoped for. “You’re sure it’s them?” she asked without turning.

“Positive. I’ve even got a short video on my phone.”

On her phone. Not on her blog.

Why wait on uploading it when this was practically breaking news for the Ladyblog? Paris’s heroes hadn’t abandoned her. Or, worse, Paris’s heroes didn’t _need_ to abandon her. The lull in the fighting had been just that, and now it was over. 

Sabrina sighed and purposely relaxed her clenched fists. “If you had your phone, why not at least text me that you’d be late?”

She heard footsteps behind her, and then Alya had stepped in front of her. “I should have. It was wrong not to, and I’m sorry.”

“But?” Sabrina knew it was coming. She wasn’t a fool.

Alya bit her lip before whispering, “I think…. I think I was right. And that scares me, Sabrina.”

Sabrina frowned. Alya did look shaken, and Sabrina wasn’t convinced the other girl was a good enough actress to fake that. “What are you talking about?”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir. I think I know who they are.”

Sabrina didn’t need to check the Ladyblog to know that Alya hadn’t published this. “And?” Unmasking them had been Alya’s goal; that she might have finally succeeded wasn’t entirely a surprise.

“You can’t tell Chloé. You can’t tell anyone. Swear it.”

She was serious. Much more serious than she had been before, at any rate. “I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Sabrina said. “Now why are you so scared?”

Alya swallowed. “Before I started out here and got sidetracked, I…. I really started to think about the implications. I’d been…. I’ve been stupid. Not looking at this the right way. If I’d talked to you earlier, really talked to you, you probably would’ve put me straight. Anyone would have. And then, when I saw Ladybug and Chat Noir, and I realized I must have been right….” She shivered. “I guess it just hit home then.”

Alya might have been having second thoughts about her crusade to unmask Paris’s heroes, but she still liked the drama of it all, and she definitely liked building up tension. That was her downfall, in Sabrina’s opinion. She wanted the chase to be the best story it could be, and she focused on that as much as the end. And sometimes, she forgot that it wasn’t just a story somewhere along the way.

From the looks of it, she’d gotten a hard reminder.

“Right about what?” If Sabrina didn’t keep her on track, there was no telling where Alya would go.

“I think Adrien was Chat Noir.”

_What?_ Sabrina was well aware of how much Adrien had on his plate—or, at least, how much he used to have before his father had died and all his activities had abruptly ground to a halt. Chloé had his schedule memorized, which meant Sabrina knew it off by heart, too. Adrien would certainly have enough skills to be Chat Noir—Sabrina, though not having seen it herself, was well aware that his room came complete with a rock-climbing wall—and, according to Chloé, the same rotten humour to match him, but….

But wasn’t Adrien’s life too regimented to allow him the freedom to be a superhero like Chat Noir in the first place?

“You can’t be….” Sabrina didn’t bother finishing her sentence; Alya’s earnest look meant she wasn’t kidding. “So you think—?”

“Look, I’m guessing with this part,” Alya admitted. She grabbed Sabrina’s hand and pulled her off to the side so that they were half-hidden behind the library’s stoop. “Remember how I said Ladybug was spotted in the area the night his father died?” Alya didn’t wait for Sabrina’s nod. “I think…I think they were both there, fighting, and Chat Noir never left, which is why there were only reports of Ladybug in the area. Or maybe the fight was elsewhere, so Adrien wasn’t around when his father….” She swallowed. “I don’t know if M. Agreste’s death could have been caused by something that happened during a fight that went right through his home or if it happened somewhere else, so Adrien wasn’t around to help when his father needed him. Either way, he’d feel responsible. It’s Adrien. You know he’d take it on himself even if he really had nothing to do with it.”

“And you think that’s why he believes he killed his father,” Sabrina concluded. “Through his own inaction.”

“Or he got caught in the crossfire. We don’t—” Alya’s voice cracked. “We don’t know if Ladybug can reverse death.”

Sabrina thought Ladybug might be able to, depending on the circumstances of the death. Everyone the Bubbler had trapped in his bubbles had certainly faced death, and they didn’t know that Stormy Weather hadn’t frozen anyone solid. And Timebreaker…. She really just remembered Ladybug telling them all to run, but she’d looked back and—

People had vanished at Timebreaker’s touch, fading from reality if not from memory, and—

Sabrina shuddered. “All right. So you think Adrien is Chat Noir, and that explains why he appears to think his father’s death is his fault.” It was a strange relief to know that Adrien hadn’t actually had a hand in it, somehow. She hadn’t finished her research on all the things that could cause a heart attack or take the appearance of one, and she was rather glad that it appeared she wouldn’t need to. Even if he wasn’t Chat Noir, the fact that Alya seemed to be convinced that there wasn’t any wrongdoing made her feel better.

“Not exactly. He could also have been akumatized, as Adrien or Chat Noir, and Hawk Moth might even have realized his identity and set up some fight between him and his father. But that part really doesn’t matter.” 

“How can it not matter?” Alya shouldn’t look so surprised at her protest; it _did_ matter. “That’s a completely different—”

“No, you don’t get it.” Alya glanced over her shoulder before saying, “I think Adrien _was_ Chat Noir. He’s not anymore. I think now it’s Nino.”

Sabrina blinked. “What?”

“I think Nino’s the new Chat Noir.”

“How—?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how any of it works. But despite what Ladybug tried to get me to believe, she herself hasn’t been around for thousands of years, even if there’s been a Ladybug for that long. Same with Chat Noir. It’s a…. I dunno. It’s something that can be passed from person to person. I’m almost certain it’s Nino now. It…. It looks like him, and the Chat Noir we knew…. He looked like Adrien.”

“He didn’t really act like Adrien.” Sabrina felt she had to play the devil’s advocate here. When Alya became convinced of a theory, she had a tendency to fixate on it and miss opposing evidence, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“Would you, if you were a superhero trying to keep your civilian identity a secret?”

Sabrina crossed her arms. “Be real here, Alya. How sure are you?”

“You can’t deny they look alike, and it would explain a lot.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Alya sighed. “I don’t know. But my gut tells me it’s true. Especially when you consider….” She stopped. “Please, Sabrina. _No one_ can know what we’re talking about now. Not Chloé, not your dad.”

“The case is closed, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Sabrina said. “It’s not even really a case in their eyes; just a necessary investigation, just in case, especially because M. Agreste was who he was. Your speculation wouldn’t be enough to get them to reopen it.”

“It’s not just that. It’s just… I mean…. That’s the important bit, yes, even if I really can’t verify anything without talking to the new Chat Noir.” Alya’s hands had found her phone, and she gripped it like it was a lifeline that was keeping her from being swept away. 

“You want me to look at this video and give you my opinion?” That couldn’t be it. It certainly wasn’t the reason Alya had called her, since she’d gotten the footage afterwards. But Sabrina hadn’t given Alya any information. The most she’d done was give the other girl reassurances that the police would need some actual evidence before they’d even consider the possibility that Adrien was involved in the death of his father, accidentally or not, and Alya should have been able to figure that much out on her own.

“It’s not just the video,” Alya whispered. “Sabrina, could Ladybug be Marinette?”

_No._ But that initial disgust at the very idea was Chloé’s voice in her head, not her own. It was no secret that Chloé and Marinette didn’t care for each other, but Sabrina wasn’t quite as oblivious as her best friend when it came to Ladybug. No matter what Chloé wanted, she was far from Ladybug’s favourite person. Sabrina might have been disoriented after being the Vanisher, but she wasn’t completely ignorant when it came to knowing how Antibug had come to be.

Sabrina opened her mouth and conceded, “It’s possible.” She had only seen Marinette and Ladybug at the same time once, which counted for nothing if she considered how she had also seen Alix and Timebreaker together at that time. If Ladybug and Chat Noir hadn’t had to turn up so often to rescue their class, it would be a moot point, but since they did….

“They look alike,” Alya was saying, “and even sound alike, and Marinette’s always had these strange ideas about Ladybug and Chat Noir that she insisted upon but could never really argue. I just…. I never really thought about it too much before. It’s crossed my mind, especially the time Ladybug had dropped that textbook, but Marinette….. She’s my best friend, and I didn’t think she could keep something like this from me. But what if she had to? If Adrien really was Chat Noir, I don’t think she knew that until recently. Which means they didn’t even know who the other one was beneath the mask.” 

“They were always running off,” Sabrina allowed as she let her arms drop.

Alya’s laugh was bitter. “I always thought Marinette was scared, even after she took charge of the class to organize us during Darkblade’s attack. I thought she’d just fought through it then, that it was a turning point, only she disappeared during the next attack….” Alya shook her head. “Some friend I am. I was always too caught up in trying to catch Ladybug and Chat Noir in action to worry about her.”

“Which is how she would want it, if she really is Ladybug.”

“She has to be. Our school is the _only one_ to use that textbook.”

“That’s not enough evidence, Alya. It’s circumstantial. You’re assuming the book was hers.”

“Marinette forgot hers at home the day I had Ladybug’s!”

“But you can’t prove that she didn’t forget it. That’s my point. It might be likely, but that doesn’t mean it’s true, even if Adrien’s Chat Noir. If you’re so confident in your conclusions, confront her yourself. But I don’t think you are, because you came to me first.”

Alya groaned. “Just tell me I’m not crazy.”

Sabrina frowned. “Alya, I need you to be honest with me. Why aren’t you telling this to Marinette? Even if you just talk to her about how you think Adrien is Chat Noir?”

“Was,” Alya corrected. She was silent for a moment longer before replying, “I’ve floated the idea by her before and she completely denied the possibility, but that’s not really why I was trying to avoid bringing it up. I was being a bit much for Marinette lately, I guess. Something’s bothering her, something _besides_ Adrien’s dad passing away, and she won’t talk to me. I tried to convince her that I’d listen, but she asked me to back off, and, well….”

“And you came to the conclusion that maybe what’s bothering her is that she’s Ladybug, Adrien’s Chat Noir, and M. Agreste’s death might not just be from natural causes?”

Alya winced. “It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“How else do you want me to say it? Isn’t that why you wanted to talk to me? To give you another perspective?” Alya didn’t try to deny it, so Sabrina continued, “It’s possible, yes. You can argue that it’s plausible if you want. But if you want my opinion, talk to Marinette, preferably in person. That way, when you bring it up, you’ll know if you’re right. And if it’s crazy, she’ll let you know, and it might lighten the mood. Maybe she’ll even let you in on the real secret. I don’t know. You know her better than I do.”

“I’m starting to wonder about that,” muttered Alya.

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll see this through with you, okay? Phone Marinette. We can go over there now, _together_ , and you can bring up this whole thing about Ladybug and Chat Noir and see what she says. And if we’re lucky, she knows more than we do about what Adrien said to Chloé, and we can put all of this behind us and move on.”

“We can’t. Marinette isn’t home. I sent her out to go talk to Adrien and Nino. Nino managed to convince Adrien to come over to his place, but it didn’t go well.”

Sabrina growled, not caring that Alya knew how frustrated she felt. She’d _hoped_ that Alya had found some definitive evidence to clear Adrien so she could rest easy, but all Alya had were more theories. Because she was _Alya_ , and if given long enough, she’d find a way to link almost anything to her obsession with Paris’s heroes. Their disappearance—until tonight, apparently—hadn’t helped matters. 

Frankly, Sabrina wasn’t sure that Alya wasn’t ready to jump to any conclusion, clutch any straw, in the hope that it would explain what had happened to the heroes.

Or who they really were, assuming Alya wasn’t actually right this time.

“I know you want to help, Alya, but are you sure you aren’t making things worse?”

Alya looked taken aback. “What?”

Sabrina wasn’t in the mood to back down. She started ticking things off her fingers. “One, we don’t know that Adrien meant what he said literally. He’s obviously not in a great place right now. You wouldn’t be either in his shoes, and it’s almost worse for him because he’s in the public eye. He probably didn’t have anything to do with his father’s death, and the fact that he looks like Chat Noir is probably coincidence.”

“Sabrina—”

“ _Two_ , Marinette is free to keep secrets from you, best friend or no, and if she doesn’t want to talk about something with you right now, don’t force her to. I know that better than anyone, believe me; I’m Chloé’s friend. Who knows? Maybe last time Marinette tried talking to you, you hijacked the conversation and turned it to Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

“I didn’t—”

“Three, in terms of Ladybug and Chat Noir, have you tried viewing this situation from a lens _not_ coloured by them? Even if one of them attends our school, and that’s a big if, it definitely doesn’t mean both of them do, and there are enough people in this city that there’s a very good chance you’ll never find out who they really are.”

“But—”

“Maybe Ladybug and Chat Noir have their own problems that they’re busy with. Maybe Marinette just doesn’t feel like talking to anyone yet, or maybe she’s just feeling a little lost because one of her idols passed away and one of her best friends lost his dad—because you can’t tell me she and Adrien weren’t good friends before this; you two hung out with him and Nino all the time. And maybe Adrien’s just grieving and feels guilty because he wasn’t there in the end. Or really very much before that, from what I know of his busy schedule is and how hectic his dad’s must’ve been. Maybe Adrien thought the pressures of _his_ schedule were too much for his dad on top of all the other stuff M. Agreste must have needed to do. Maybe they had a fight. We don’t know, and we can’t ask, but that doesn’t matter anyway because it isn’t any of our business.” She took a deep breath, grateful that at least this time, Alya hadn’t tried to interrupt. “Did you ever think that maybe it’s just because he never had a chance to say goodbye?”

“You don’t say you killed someone just because you didn’t have a chance to say goodbye!”

By some stroke of luck, anyone who might have heard Alya’s outburst didn’t seem inclined to bother about it, because no one came looking for them. The few beats of tense silence were enough for Sabrina to collect herself again, and if the few deep breaths Alya took were any indication, it was the same for her.

“You weren’t there, Alya,” Sabrina said quietly, “and neither was I. Unless Adrien brings this up again, we should just drop it. Chances are he hadn’t slept in weeks anyway. We’ve been overthinking things and overreacting, all of us, because we don’t know how to handle what happened any better than he does.”

“So you don’t think Ladybug and Chat Noir have anything to do with this? Even though they disappeared the same night?”

“Correlation isn’t necessarily causation. It’s more likely a coincidence, especially if they’ve turned up again.”

“With Nino as Chat Noir now?”

“You don’t know he’s Nino.”

“He looks—”

“Things aren’t always what they appear to be, Alya,” Sabrina interrupted. “And contrary to what you want to believe, not everything is always connected to Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Alya’s free hand clenched into a fist. “Fine, then. I’m sorry I asked.”

“You don’t need to be angry with me just because I think you’re wrong.”

“You think I’m crazy!”

“I never said that. You wanted my opinion. I gave it. It’s possible, yes, but I don’t trust you to have a clear head on this, which is why I think you need to talk to Marinette since you obviously don’t want to drop it.”

Alya rolled her eyes and huffed, “Fine.” She held out her phone. “But you might as well watch the video anyway, even if you think it’s utterly unrelated.”

Sabrina didn’t rise to the bait this time, and once she’d seen the video, she did admit that Chat Noir looked somewhat like Nino—but she made a point of cautioning Alya. “You were definitely too far away for anything to be conclusive, and even if you happen to be right about that, it doesn’t mean you’re right about anything else. And….” Sabrina shrugged, not sure how to say this. “You even said you didn’t want to be right. But you don’t seem to want to be wrong, either. You should step back from this for a while.”

“I can’t. If I let this opportunity go by—”

“It’s not just an opportunity. Alya, I thought you said you thought about what it would mean if you were right and were scared by the implications. Are you really, though? Or are you just convincing yourself that you are because you think you should be?”

Alya stared at Sabrina for a long moment before her shoulders finally dropped. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “My curiosity isn’t gone; I still want to know if I’m right or not, even knowing what that would mean. But it’s not just because it’s an opportunity to find out who Ladybug and Chat Noir are. I’m not planning to tell Paris anymore. I don’t think I can, especially not if they are my friends. But if they are, and I know for sure, then I’ll finally know enough to be able to support my friends with whatever they’re going through.”

“You can support them without knowing if you’re right, though,” Sabrina pointed out. “Even if you just bake some cookies or something to show that you’re thinking of them. You don’t need to be nosy just to be nice.” At Alya’s wounded look, Sabrina added, “Sorry. That was a little harsh. But my point still stands. I can support Chloé without knowing exactly why she’s upset.”

“You support Chloé all the time anyway,” Alya complained, “and you’ve _seen_ how she treats others.”

“I don’t need to stand here and defend my friendship with her to you, Alya, but before you get upset about Chloé, remember that she knows, to a certain extent, what Adrien is feeling right now. This isn’t easy on her, either; she was close to their family. She feels this loss, too, much more than you and I do. She’s only human.”

“Doesn’t explain the rest of the time,” Alya muttered, but Sabrina didn’t argue with her because she knew she couldn’t change Alya’s mind. Chloé would have to do that, and it would only come through actions, not words.

Sabrina handed back Alya’s phone. “Call Marinette anyway,” she suggested. “If she’s with Nino, they can both meet up with us, and if she’s not, we can have a girl’s night.”

Alya frowned. “Why the offer? I didn’t think you liked Marinette all that much.”

“She’s still a good person, and I can play nice. But if you don’t want me there, that’s fine. I’ll just go home.”

Sabrina didn’t make it two steps before Alya caught her arm. “Please, help me figure this out.”

“You aren’t listening to me.”

Alya swallowed. “You’re right, to a point,” she admitted. “I _do_ want to be right, at least so that I can put this hunt behind me, and I don’t like to hear you name all the things I’m wrong about. But have you really been listening to me, either? Have you thought about what it means if I _am_ right?”

Sabrina didn’t need to think about it to know she’d prefer if Alya were wrong. The implications…. The whole idea was a little unnerving. Not the idea that Marinette was Ladybug or that Nino might now be Chat Noir, but the thought that Adrien could have been Chat Noir and that someone else might have discovered that fact and used it against him. 

Because it meant M. Agreste’s death might not be what it seemed.

The whole thing sounded like a conspiracy theory, though, when she neatly laid it out. It was easy to dismiss as one ridiculous conclusion built upon another, everything circumstantial or hearsay or otherwise without solid, conclusive evidence. But if Sabrina abandoned her logic and leapt fully into thinking about what it meant if Alya were right?

Sabrina took a slow breath, trying to keep the distress off her face. “You should still talk to Marinette.” It was far safer to speak with Marinette than Adrien either way. If nothing else, the mere suggestion that his father might have been a target because someone might have mistaken him for Chat Noir was not something she’d wish upon Adrien right now. He might never know for certain, and he didn’t deserve to have the possibility eat away at him. 

Alya was looking at something on her phone. “I have a better idea,” she said, looking up at Sabrina with a gleam in her eye that Sabrina didn’t trust. Sure enough, Alya tilted her phone so Sabrina could see the display. “Ladybug and Chat Noir are on the move. People are tracking them. Let’s follow and see if we can ask Ladybug what happened that night. She would know if there was anything. She’s the one who was seen in the area.”

“I don’t know if we should bother her with something like this.”

“Come on, Sabrina. You think I need more evidence, right? Isn’t tracking down a potential witness a good place to start?”

Sabrina huffed, not liking that Alya was using her ideas against her. “All right,” she agreed, “but only because you’ll go anyway and I think you should have someone else there to diffuse the situation when it goes sideways. Assuming Ladybug will even talk to you.”

“She’ll talk,” Alya said. “She has to.” She checked her phone again before saying, “Come on, they’re heading this way.” She grabbed Sabrina’s hand and began to run.

Sabrina stumbled along behind her, her bag thumping against her hip with every step, and wondered how she’d allowed herself to get dragged into this.


	17. Part XVII: Master Fu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the wait, folks! Forewarning: slight implied mention of suicide in this chapter.

Master Fu was not surprised when Ladybug and Chat Noir burst into his shop, even though he had closed it not ten minutes earlier.

He had debated orchestrating such a visit himself before deciding to let things unfold as they would. He was not the first Guardian to doubt his wisdom, so Wayzz had lent his guidance where he could, but sometimes Master Fu wondered if that was enough. He had not doubted his choices when he had awarded the children—they were still children, even after a tragedy like this—the Miraculous; he had hoped that they would be able to flourish with them.

And, for a time, they had.

He hadn’t thought it necessary to step in, content with leaving the teachings to Tikki and Plagg, but the final fight had occurred too quickly for him to realize what was happening.

He had wanted to be reunited with Nooroo and the Butterfly Miraculous, but he had not wanted it to happen like this.

“Master Fu?”

Ladybug was the first to arrive, giving a cursory knock on the door frame before entering his workroom. Chat Noir followed her with uncertainty, looking uncomfortable in his suit as he fidgeted with and pulled at what should have been a perfect fit; he was not the young Agreste boy Master Fu had chosen but the one with which Plagg had entrusted his Miraculous. Master Fu and Wayzz had been able to work out that much, at least. Wayzz knew Plagg had fled with his Ring and hidden it in a place he had not even dared to tell Tikki; Master Fu had not pushed the matter because, ultimately, he trusted Plagg to take care with his own Miraculous, even if he did not always trust his judgement when it came to its wielder.

Master Fu stood, unfolding his crossed legs with a painful slowness that reminded him of his age. “Ladybug.” He inclined his head to her and then to her partner. “Chat Noir.”

Chat Noir swallowed and stepped forward. “I’m not Chat Noir,” he said, “but you already know that, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Claws in, Plagg.”

“Nino—”

“I’m Nino Lahiffe,” the boy continued, holding up a hand to stop Ladybug’s protests, “and Plagg told me you’re the one responsible for keeping him and Adrien apart.”

“I didn’t say it quite like that,” Plagg muttered from somewhere behind the boy’s elbow.

Master Fu allowed his lips to twitch into a gentle smile. “It is a pleasure to meet the new wielder of the Cat Miraculous,” he said, giving another small nod to acknowledge his respect of the position. “Now, please, seat yourselves. You’ll have tea?”

“I—what?”

Ladybug put her hand on Nino’s arm. “Thank you,” she said, steering him toward the small table Master Fu had set out. She didn’t question the fact that it was already set for three.

Thanks to Wayzz’s warning, Master Fu had been keeping the water warm, and he was able to present them with steaming cups before the new Chat Noir could find his tongue. He set them out, accepting Ladybug’s murmured thanks with another nod, and joined them on the mat. He picked up his tea; the other two didn’t touch theirs, and he knew enough to wait for them to begin again.

“We need help,” Ladybug confessed. “Can you help us? Will you help us?”

“No, wait, hold on.” Nino stared at Ladybug. “You can’t just ask him for help like that! He’s the one making up these stupid rules like how Adrien can’t keep Plagg.”

Ladybug winced. “Nino—”

“I’m serious! You can’t tell me Adrien’s not friends with Plagg. You can’t tell me you’re not friends with your kwami. Adrien just lost his father. I don’t know what else he was dealing with after that fight with Hawk Moth, but shouldn’t a death like that be more reason to keep his friends close? Why did Plagg have to be sent away?”

Master Fu sipped his tea and then said, “Did Plagg not tell you?”

Nino swallowed, and Master Fu knew he’d caught his meaning immediately. “Adrien wouldn’t. I know him. He wouldn’t.”

“It’s happened before,” Master Fu pointed out, “and it may happen again if we are ever careless. Darkness and pain can drive people to incredible things, things others would never expect of them, and not all of those accomplishments are to be admired. Hawk Moth was merely a man in pain before he acquired Nooroo.”

Nino’s eyes flicked to Ladybug, but she stared down at her tea in silence. He looked back at Master Fu. “And now? He’s found another way to channel that? A better way?”

“He faced consequences that came with his actions, as we all must.”

Ladybug let out a sob. Nino looked at her for a beat and then reached out, his hand hovering over her back for a moment before slowly beginning to rub circles into it. The expression he turned on Master Fu was pleading.

Plagg had not told him everything. Nor had Ladybug, from the looks of it.

“Do you regret stopping him?” Master Fu asked quietly.

Ladybug sniffed and reached for the tissue Nino offered her, dabbing her eyes and rubbing at her nose. “I regret stopping him like that. We…we shouldn’t have gone there. We should have tried to gather more information first. We should have done _something_. Maybe if we’d tried talking to him first….”

Master Fu took a careful sip of his tea. “Do you truly believe that would have worked? That it would have been enough?”

Ladybug took a shuddering breath and then admitted quietly, “No. But we still should have tried. We’re little better than him since we didn’t try.”

Nino snorted. “Okay, I might not know much, but I know you’re _definitely_ better than him. The guy turned innocent people into supervillains who would have, if you hadn’t stopped them—stopped _us_ —killed their fair share of people. I know I would have, if things had gone on for long enough. At least, that’s what it sounds like.” He shifted uncomfortably, took a breath, and ploughed on. “So, really, this Hawk Moth dude was seriously evil. By stopping him from twisting anyone else, you’ve done everyone a major favour. We owe you, and we’ll never be able to repay that. Because you’ve saved us all more times than we can count, and by stopping him, you kinda saved us for good. At least where Hawk Moth’s concerned.”

Ladybug shrugged off Nino’s hand and pulled her knees to her chest. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew everything.”

“Pretty sure I would. What I’m missing won’t change the basic facts I do know, and that’s that we’d all be worse off if you and Adrien hadn’t stopped Hawk Moth. Trust me, whatever actually happened, I can imagine way worse if you hadn’t succeeded.”

Nino’s response was a broken laugh. “You sound like Tikki.”

Nino flashed her a grin. “Great minds.”

Master Fu had to wonder if the boy had ever heard the full expression. _Great minds think alike, though fools seldom differ._ He might not like its implication, even though no one could rightly call Tikki a fool if they knew her. Nino may not be a fool, either, but he was young.

Young enough not to notice Master Fu had changed the subject, at any rate.

Ladybug bit her lip. “I just…. I just keep thinking that not everyone _is_ better off, not like they would be if we’d done things differently. I can’t undo what we did. Out of everything, this is the one thing I can’t fix. And it’s the one that needed to be fixed most of all.”

Nino blinked. “But you can fix everything.”

Ladybug hugged her knees tighter. “Not everything. Not this.”

Master Fu waited, but Nino didn’t ask, so he said, “You do not need to carry your Miraculous if you do not wish to.”

Ladybug took a slow, shaky breath. “I know.”

“You can’t be thinking of giving it up!” Nino exclaimed. “You’re _Ladybug_. We need you.”

Ladybug rested her forehead on her knees and mumbled, “Spots off, Tikki.”

Nino made a choked noise as Ladybug transformed. Tikki landed on the table, and Master Fu turned to where Wayzz was hiding and nodded. It was time.

“I don’t want to give you up, Tikki,” her wielder whispered, “but I don’t know if I deserve to keep you.” She raised her head. “I’m not just Ladybug, Nino.”

The boy was staring slack-jawed at his classmate, and neither noticed Wayzz zip past with a few cookies for Tikki and some camembert for Plagg. Both kwami picked half-heartedly at their food, a sure sign that they weren’t happy with the current situation, either. But it was hardly a situation with which anyone would be entirely happy.

“M-Marinette?” Nino finally managed. “ _You’re_ Ladybug?”

“She is if she chooses to be,” Master Fu said quietly. 

“But…but…. I mean, you….”

Marinette sniffed. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t tell anyone, not even each other. I didn’t figure it out until…until it was over.”

“That sounds like a stupid rule,” Nino muttered.

Marinette let out something between a laugh and a sob. “It probably saved our lives. If we’d known, we might not have been able to hide it from him.”

Nino frowned. “You mean Hawk Moth? But—”

“But he could have found out,” Tikki interrupted, “and he would have used that knowledge to his advantage if he had. Our power isn’t meant to be used for evil. Hawk Moth’s abuse of Nooroo was a corruption of our purpose, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to misuse me, either, or Plagg, if he’d gotten his hands on one of us.”

Nino stared at her, and Master Fu knew she’d gone too far. “Can you use more than one Miraculous at once?”

Tikki took a large bite of her cookie and chewed slowly instead of answering.

“I don’t know,” Marinette said. “We knew he wanted our Miraculous, but we never thought about how he might use them in tandem.”

They were both looking at him now, and Master Fu knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid this subject so easily. “It is possible to wield more than one Miraculous,” he admitted, “but to do so would unlock a danger greater than Hawk Moth was ever able to pose with Nooroo alone.”

“That is why we entrust ourselves to our Guardian,” Wayzz said from his place by Plagg, and both Nino and Marinette jumped. “Master Fu will help Nooroo recover, and he’ll do his best to make so no one else falls into the wrong hands.”

“Wait, you—?” Marinette looked from Wayzz to Master Fu, and she swallowed hard. “You understand, then.”

Master Fu inclined his head to her.

Nino just looked confused. “Understand what?”

Marinette chewed her lip. “Responsibility. Regret. Everything. When Tikki first introduced us, I hadn’t realized. I hadn’t realized anything.”

“I don’t think I realize anything now.”

Marinette laughed. “You will, Nino. Just keep working with Plagg, and you’ll figure it out.”

“But I don’t _want_ to work with Plagg. I want _Adrien_ to stay with him. That’s why I came here!” He twisted to look at Master Fu again. “You _are_ the one making up these rules, right? Saying that Plagg can’t stay with Adrien when he needs him most? Look, if you don’t want Adrien to transform for a while, you can keep the ring, but let him have Plagg.”

“And if there is another attack?”

“They defeated Hawk Moth! There’s _not_ going to be another attack.” Nino must have read something in his expression, for he added, “And if for some reason there is, then I guess I can fill in until Adrien’s better.”

Master Fu raised his eyebrows. “Healing from such a loss takes years, and some never completely recover. Are you prepared for that?”

Nino blinked. “What?”

“Are you willing to commit yourself to such a sacrifice?”

“I…I don’t…. I mean, I haven’t….”

“If you do not wish to wield the Cat Miraculous, you may return it to me.”

Nino glanced at Plagg. “Will you return it to Adrien?”

“What I do will depend on the circumstances at the time,” Master Fu answered. “Even if I were to offer it, should you be so certain Adrien would want it back?”

“But Plagg—”

“Plagg is not the only thing he would receive.” Master Fu looked pointedly at Marinette.

She clenched her hands into fists, took a deep breath, and slowly relaxed them. “He might not want it,” she admitted quietly. “Transforming now isn’t…easy. It comes with a lot of memories.” She fell silent for a moment and, without Master Fu’s prompting, added, “I’m not ready to give it up, though. Not completely. I…I guess I feel that I need to atone for what we did. I can’t do that nearly as well without Tikki.”

“Then there is no need for me to ask you to try.”

“But I still need help,” she said. “We still need it. Adrien and I…. We can’t tell anyone else, but you know, so….” She shrugged helplessly, unable to find the right words. “Please.”

“My door is always open if you ever need to talk. Tikki and Plagg know this.”

He did not miss the sharp look Marinette gave Tikki, and he was not entirely surprised by Plagg’s mutterings. “I didn’t think Adrien needed another reminder,” the kwami said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “but we might have still come if you hadn’t ordered me away.”

“The danger—” started Wayzz.

“I _know_ the danger!” Plagg burst out. “I know it better than any of you! And I know you don’t trust my judgement after last time, but did you even ask Tikki? Or Marinette? You could have spoken with them before making your decision. They would have been able to attest to his character.”

“They didn’t ask,” Tikki said slowly, “but I wouldn’t have been comfortable with the risk. You know that, Plagg. And I couldn’t bear to lose you like that, especially not after we just got Nooroo back.”

“And what if we hadn’t gotten Nooroo back?”

“Plagg—”

“I mean it, Tikki. I could have destroyed him. Adrien was aiming for his Miraculous. He wouldn’t have been able to come back from that, no matter what you did. He would have been gone, and we all would have been unbalanced. We would have been feeling it forever.”

“Plagg.” The warning in Tikki’s voice was clear. “Don’t.”

Plagg, as he was wont to do, ignored her. “They wouldn’t, though.” He waved a paw in the direction of the teenagers, though he kept his gaze on Tikki. “They wouldn’t know what the loss meant. That’s why it became their goal, isn’t it? Because they didn’t know? That secrecy can protect them, protect us, but it can also be our undoing. You never understood that. _Either_ of you,” he added, shooting Wayzz a glare. “I _knew_ Adrien was aiming for Nooroo’s Miraculous, but I don’t have the power to stay his hand. You know that. But if you want to think about what ifs, then don’t forget that if Hawk Moth had found out their identities, they might have been able to figure out his, too. And maybe my boy wouldn’t be as broken as he is.”

The silence stretched. Tikki finally looked away, breaking Plagg’s gaze, and Nino said, “Wait. Are you saying Adrien—?” He swallowed. “With _Cataclysm_?” His voice climbed with the word. “But that’s….”

No one answered, but Marinette picked up her tea. It would be little better than lukewarm now, though she made no effort to drink it. Master Fu suspected she merely wanted something to do with her hands. He took another sip of his own tea. This was not the sort of silence he enjoyed breaking, and it was better for the others to have their say.

Though he would be loath to admit it, there was little he could do besides offering them a willing ear, a warm drink, and a safe place to talk.

Wayzz could sense when the other Miraculous were activated and changed hands, but he could not pinpoint their location. They would not have been able to rescue Nooroo without deploying Tikki and Plagg. They were the ones best suited to combating Nooroo’s abilities, and he’d hoped, as they fought, that they would be able to gather enough information to discover Hawk Moth’s identity before it came to this.

Even after Tikki had come to him with the location of Hawk Moth’s base, they had been unable to do anything. Tracking down the owner had come to nothing, and too many people had passed through for them to notice anything irregular when they’d set up watch. By the time Ladybug and Chat Noir had chosen to attack, they’d given up on that as a futile effort until they had more to go on.

If they had still been in the area, things might have been different.

But they hadn’t been, and the circumstances could not be changed.

Well.

Not safely.

But it was better they not know the possibility. The temptation was too great, and the risk far too severe. They would destroy far more with good intentions, whether reckless or planned, than they had already lost now. He was to oversee the safekeeping of the Miraculous, of the kwami and their partners, and by doing so, he helped to keep safe a little part of the world. He had travelled far more in his younger days, but convenient as travel may be now, he couldn’t afford to leave.

There was still a Miraculous missing from his care, and until he recovered it or had another clue as to its whereabouts, Paris was his home.

“That’s really messed up,” Nino mumbled when no one else spoke up. “Man, to have to deal with that on top of losing his father…. No wonder he’s like this.”

Nino hadn’t realized the truth even now, but Master Fu wasn’t going to point it out, and he knew none of the kwami would, either. And Marinette….

Marinette wasn’t likely to say anything yet. She looked like she wished she couldn’t remember it. But it was far safer for her to work through this pain than to try to suppress it. Suppressing it would only make things worse when it came to the surface later. If she hoped to move on, she would need to accept what had happened.

Acceptance would not come easily. It certainly would not come right away. But it would come, if she allowed it.

“Don’t bring it up,” Marinette whispered.

“I wasn’t going to make him talk about anything he doesn’t want to,” Nino said. “Especially not with me, since I wasn’t there. But you were, so he’s talking to you, right?”

Marinette shook her head.

“Not even a little bit?”

“Not really.”

Nino’s eyes fixed on him again. “And you? Are you going to at least explain to him about why you took Plagg away?”

“It was his choice to give the Miraculous to you.” 

Master Fu knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. Nino’s face darkened. “You know that can’t be true. He found the ring at my place after he thought he’d just lost it or something. _Of course_ he was gracious and trying not to make me feel bad about having it. That’s the way he is. But you didn’t see him crying his eyes out. You think he wanted to end that chapter of his life?”

Nino didn’t seem to realize the other implications of his statement. Master Fu let them pass and instead looked to Marinette. “Do you?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, _I_ do,” Nino said, even though he couldn’t possibly. “He didn’t want to say goodbye. You don’t want him to have the ring right now? Fine. I’ll fill in, for as long as it takes, but I know he’ll take the ring back. I’m his best friend. I know him better than you do. And I’ll make sure he knows that he can have the ring back whenever he’s ready, even if it’s just to try it and see. Does that work for you, or does it break another one of your rules?”

Master Fu was willing to overlook Nino’s disrespectful tone because he understood the boy’s anger. From his perspective, he had every right to be angry. But he did not understand nearly as much as he thought he did, and Master Fu could not explain everything now. “That is an acceptable compromise,” he allowed, “as long as Plagg spends his time with you in case you are needed.”

Nino muttered something suspiciously like, “Like I’m gonna be needed,” but Master Fu let that pass, too.

He thought the boy would make a good Miraculous Wielder, even if the Cat Miraculous would not have been his first choice for him. He had a good heart, was willing to protect those who needed it and fight for those he did not believe could fight for themselves, and had already earned Plagg’s trust. Plagg did not give that easily. Not anymore. So if the boy had it….

Yes.

He would do.

“Marinette, would you be willing to look after him?” She clearly needed something to keep her preoccupied, and if she became comfortable transforming again, she was less likely to change her mind and give up her Miraculous.

He was sure he could find another person willing to be Ladybug, but it wasn’t time for that yet. Marinette had more to learn. And Adrien….

In hindsight, he should have approached the boy directly, but he still wasn’t sure that would have been possible. Mme Sancoeur did not have a habit of letting strangers into the Agreste household, Adrien would have been suspicious of Wayzz after the mess with Nooroo, and he had known Plagg wouldn’t go willingly if he didn’t believe it necessary. And, from what Master Fu could gather, Adrien’s isolation was largely self-imposed.

It was understandable, yes. It was also dangerous.

“Of course.” It was the barest whisper, but Master Fu didn’t doubt the sincerity of the words. 

“Plagg?”

“You know I wouldn’t abandon my Chat Noir.” Plagg had his arms crossed but he wasn’t looking at Master Fu. He was still angry. Understandable, of course. He had never wanted to leave Adrien. He didn’t feel it was time yet, either. 

But he also wouldn’t neglect his duty.

“And you, Tikki? Will you watch out for them?”

Tikki’s antennae trembled. She knew what he was asking, knew that he was asking more of her than he usually did. The time had come for her and Plagg to work closely again, the time when their partners knew each other and they accepted the consequences of that knowledge as they went forward. She had never liked the idea, but she never tried to undermine them because of that. “I always do my best.”

“As shall I. Please, come to me if you ever have need of anything, and I—”

“Are you actually going to help?” Nino interrupted. “Or are you just going to talk? Because what you’ve been doing so far _isn’t helping_.”

“Nino,”Marinette said helplessly. “Please, don’t.”

“Well, someone has to, and you aren’t, and Adrien won’t, and I don’t see Tikki or Plagg stepping up, so that leaves me, doesn’t it?”

“How much has Plagg told you of my master?” Wayzz asked, zipping up to look Nino in the eye. “Do you know the burdens he bears? Do you know what it’s like to lose someone precious to you? Do you know what it’s like to see a disaster coming and be unable to avert it? Do you know what it’s like to hold so much _power_ —?”

“Wayzz,” Master Fu cut in gently, “I appreciate your efforts, but you do not need to defend me. The boy has every right to be angry.”

Wayzz spun around. “But Master, he doesn’t even understand!”

“He may not,” Master Fu agreed, “but you know better than I that reminding him of his ignorance is not the best way to teach him.” He placed his empty teacup on the table and said, “Please, wake Nooroo.”

Tikki’s and Plagg’s eyes grew wide, but Wayzz was the only one who dared protest. “Master, I would not advise it.”

“I know. Perhaps, in my old age, I should listen to you. But I believe this is necessary.”

Wayzz didn’t move. “If you truly wish this, should we not wait for the other?”

Adrien, he meant. He likely thought voicing the name would distress Plagg farther, but Master Fu couldn’t make similar allowances. “Adrien would question too much right now,” he said quietly, “and they only need to hear one answer.” He climbed to his feet. “Come, Wayzz.”

Wayzz came, though Master Fu was not naïve enough to take his silence for anything but disapproval. He could feel the eyes of the others on his back as he opened the hiding place of the Miraculous and drew out the delicate Brooch of the Butterfly. It looked more fragile than ever after its last ordeal, and he cupped it carefully in his left hand as he closed the box with his right. Once he had laid it on top, he stepped back to allow Wayzz to work.

The kwami zipped forward, took one last look at him in the hopes that he would change his mind, and then hovered over the brooch. Magic sparked, reluctant and sparse before bursting from the brooch’s centre. Wayzz flew back to wait by his shoulder, and the purple light coalesced into Nooroo’s form. Waking a kwami like this was not something he did often, but there had been times he had found it necessary.

As he watched Nooroo dissolve into tears, he hoped he was right in thinking that this was one of those times.

“Is that—?” 

Nino’s question was shushed by the other kwami, and when Master Fu turned back with Nooroo cradled in his hands, he saw Marinette’s face pale further. Tikki was already at her shoulder, and Plagg had retreated to Nino’s elbow—the boy had slung one arm over his knee—but despite being in plain sight, both kwami looked like they were trying to hide. 

Wayzz flitted off to get something for Nooroo, and Master Fu placed him gently in the centre of the table. Marinette had abandoned her tea, so the kwami was framed by the cups. “I’m sorry to wake you now, Nooroo, but I think there is something that must be said to Tikki’s Ladybug and Plagg’s new Chat Noir.”

Nooroo sniffed. His eyes darted to the four opposite him, lingering the longest on Nino. “You weren’t there,” he murmured.

“My other boy is grieving.” Surprisingly, Plagg was the one to give the explanation. “This isn’t easy for him. We’re sorry, Nooroo. It wasn’t….”

“We didn’t ever think it would happen like this,” Tikki clarified.

Another sniff, and when Wayzz came back with some food, Nooroo shook his head to refuse it as he had when he had first returned. 

“Do you think, in time, that you’ll be able to…to forgive us?” Plagg’s voice rose, nearly cracking on the word _forgive_ , and there was no mistaking the guilt in his eyes. His was the power to destroy, the only one who could truly bring death to another of his kin, and he knew Nooroo was well aware of how close he had come to falling victim to Plagg’s curse.

Plagg might not admit it, but Master Fu knew he still believed he destroyed everything he touched. They had all spent years trying to convince him otherwise—centuries, in the case of Tikki—but something like this always seemed to happen, and Plagg invariably blamed himself.

Tikki flew across to hug Plagg, and Nooroo wiped at his eyes. “I don’t…. This shouldn’t have happened. _None_ of it should have happened. But you and your boy aren’t to blame, Plagg, any more than Tikki and her girl. He…he always knew….” The tears began again. “None of it was supposed to be this way. He knew that. But he used me anyway.” Another loud sniff. He shuddered and turned pleading eyes on Master Fu. “I’m not ready to do this yet.”

“Do you want to eat anything first?” Wayzz asked, just to be sure, but Nooroo shook his head again, and at Master Fu’s nod, Wayzz helped him back to his Miraculous.

By the time Wayzz returned, Marinette was still staring at the place Nooroo had been, and Nino was looking uncertainly over Master Fu’s shoulder.

“A terrible thing happened,” Master Fu said quietly. “You were involved—or became involved,” he amended with a nod to Nino, “in something you should have never witnessed, in part by my own doing. You must now accept the consequences for what has happened, and I apologize for not better preparing you for the possibility before you accepted your responsibility.”

Nino swallowed. “So that was…. I mean, Nooroo. He, uh, worked with… _him_?”

“He was Hawk Moth’s unwilling partner,” Wayzz said stiffly. “Tikki and Plagg rescued him.”

“Except he was nearly sacrificed,” Nino said slowly, looking down at Plagg who didn’t meet his eye, “to stop Hawk Moth.”

“He wasn’t missed by much.” Marinette’s voice was hollow. “A centimetre, if that. Maybe half. I…I didn’t realize what it was at first, when I saw it start, and then….” She closed her eyes, hunching even more as if she could shrink away and vanish, hiding from the memories which haunted her. “I had him bound in my yo-yo, but we were all tired. I’m not sure how it happened. He moved, I think, in a way Chat—Adrien,” she corrected without opening her eyes, “wasn’t expecting. I don’t remember it very well now. Hawk Moth fell, and I lost my grip on the yo-yo. I don’t think I quite realized what it meant at the time. He was just…there, without the mask, and his Miraculous was gone, and the attack was over, and we just…we didn’t….”

“Wayzz collected Nooroo’s Miraculous that night.” Master Fu worked as he spoke, getting up again to refill his tea. It didn’t appear as if Marinette or Nino had drunk any. “Tikki and Plagg let him know exactly where to find it. I should have insisted that they come back here to report on how you two were doing, but I’m afraid I was too preoccupied with correcting old mistakes to realize I was making new ones. It had been a previous error on my part that led to Nooroo’s captivity. I tried to make amends for that and in doing so neglected my duty to you, so I apologize for that as well.” He settled down again and looked at Marinette; sensing his gaze, she raised her head. “Nothing can erase what has happened. Do you understand that?”

“But this is magic.” Master Fu wasn’t surprised by Nino’s interruption, though he had expected the argumentative tone to return; however, this time Nino sounded puzzled. “I mean, time travel’s possible, isn’t it? Timebreaker—”

“She powered her magic with lives,” Marinette interrupted, her words coming out in a torrent. “We can’t do that. Don’t even think it!”

“The energy wouldn’t _have_ to come from human life or possible moments or whatever.” Nino looked at him. “Right?”

“Nothing can erase what has happened,” Master Fu repeated. Nothing safe. There were never any guarantees the moment one tried to muddle in time, and all too often, things were made irreparably worse. Nino was right; it was possible. But Master Fu could not let them realize that. He had failed to protect them from this fate; he would not fail to protect them from one worse than it, and that would be the one they’d be running headlong to meet if they pursued this path.

“Nothing can erase what has happened,” Marinette echoed, “but our scars won’t define us unless we let them. That’s what my dad said. He doesn’t know what happened, just that I’m going through some stuff, but…. He’s right. And he’s right when he said I need to adapt and keep living, and he’s right that I need to do what I can to make things right. I can’t fix this. No one can. But I still want to make things better. For Adrien, if no one else.” She bit her lip. “Master Fu, you said you also made a terrible mistake in the past, so will you please help me? Guide me?”

She felt lost, with only an idea of what she wanted to do but no clue how to go about it. He remembered that feeling. Tikki’s guidance would only take her so far until her confidence had been restored. She needed to learn to trust her judgement again, to be assured that she still had the good judgement that had served her well before. That it hadn’t all just been luck.

She needed a Guardian as much as the rest of them.

She needed a guide.

He could hardly expect her to serve as one for Nino for any length of time if she felt like this.

He met Wayzz’s eye. The kwami shook his head, not wanting him to even think about going out into the field at his age, but he didn’t need to be in the field to help.

He just needed to do for these young people what Wayzz’s former master had done for him.

And once he had these two set back on the right paths, he could see what else could be done for young Adrien Agreste. 

“Very well,” he agreed. “Let us begin.”


	18. Part XVIII: Caline Bustier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone had requested I do a chapter with Mme Bustier a while ago, and now finally seemed to be the right time in the story for it.

Caline Bustier was up to her elbows in dishwater when the phone rang. _Of course._ The call couldn’t have come five minutes earlier when she was finishing up her prep work for tomorrow’s class; it had to wait until she’d begun washing the dishes and had her hands wet. Wasn’t that the way of the world?

The phone rang three more times before she managed to dry one hand and put it on speakerphone. “Hello?” She hadn’t taken the time to glance at the display beyond seeing that it was a local number; she hadn’t wanted the person on the other end to hang up.

_“Caline, it’s Nathalie. Is now a good time?”_

Nathalie. She hadn’t heard from her old school friend for a while now. Nathalie had dealt directly with M. Damocles when arranging for Adrien to come to Françoise Dupont, and she’d spoken with him again after M. Agreste’s death. Adrien had ended up in her class because he had a similar focus as the rest of her students, not because of some request Nathalie had made.

Since Adrien’s father had passed away and he’d disappeared from her classroom, Caline had watched her remaining students struggle with the sudden loss of their friend and the shock that came with an unexpected death, though few had known M. Agreste well except perhaps Chloé. Silence had become prevalent where chatter had formerly reigned, and inexplicable tears were commonplace. Half the students routinely missed what she was saying, distracted by every little thing or simply struggling to pay attention in the first place, and the rest seemed to be _too_ focused, using their studies as a temporary distraction from reality. It had become so bad that she’d asked the school counsellor to speak with them, but it seemed to have done little good.

From what Caline could tell, Nathalie was little different. Even from a distance, she could see that her old school friend had built up walls again. Nathalie had always done that, thinking she was stronger when she withdrew and tried to weather storms alone. She buried her emotions and hid behind a carefully crafted façade. Caline had tried reaching out, but Nathalie stubbornly refused to engage with her. So the fact that she was calling now, after weeks of unreturned phone calls?

“Of course it’s a good time,” Caline said quietly, carefully easing her hands back out of the dishwater. She could finish them later. She dried her hands again, picked up the phone, and curled up in her armchair. “How are you holding up, Nathalie?”

_“I’m fine.”_ A lie. Caline could hear it in her voice. Tight. Clipped. She didn’t want to talk about it, and she wouldn’t. If pushed, she’d simply retreat further into her shell. Nathalie had always taken professional detachment to a whole new level. _“I wanted to talk to you about Adrien.”_

“How is he doing?”

_“About as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.” A pause. “He won’t speak with me about it. I—”_ She broke off, and for a moment, Caline thought she’d been interrupted, but she couldn’t hear anything on the other end of the line. _“Do you happen to know about Plagg?”_

Caline blinked. “I’ve never heard the name. Is it an internet pseudonym or—?”

_“I still haven’t the faintest.”_ How it must irk Nathalie to admit that. _“I was informed that Marinette Dupain-Cheng may be able to help me, but I haven’t had the chance to speak with her. She stopped by earlier this evening, but I was with Adrien and everyone had strict orders not to disturb us. He’s asleep now, but…. I don’t want to leave him.”_

There it was, the first allowance Nathalie had made regarding how she herself felt about all of this. She was out of her depth; as far as Caline knew, she had never wanted children of her own, so she certainly wouldn’t have ever imagined herself in circumstances like these. Nathalie had probably thought she could take a job like this and not get attached.

Personally, Caline doubted she had lasted a week before she’d had to admit to herself that she was fond of the boy. 

_“He’s been isolating himself,”_ continued Nathalie, _“and when he finally broke from that pattern and went out with Nino today…. I think it hit him, Caline. I think he thought he could pretend that reality wasn’t what it was as long as he stayed inside. When he went out, when he was reminded by everything and couldn’t deny it….”_

“You knew this wouldn’t be easy,” Caline murmured. “You were older, but you’ve been in his shoes. The second time was harder for you, wasn’t it?”

_“It’s not just that. As much as he was held at arm’s length, Adrien loved his father. I’m not trying to replace that. I can’t, and I don’t want to. But there’s a hole in his life that I can’t fill. He didn’t expect it either time, Caline, and I think…. He as good as told me he thought he was cursed. How can I change that thinking if he’s not listening to me?”_

“You could suggest he see a grief counsellor. It may be easier for him to speak with a stranger than with you or anyone else he knows.” When Nathalie didn’t reply, Caline added, “There is no shame in seeking help to get through something like this, and if you’re worried about the media, well, you’ve done an excellent job of handling them so far and I’m sure you can continue to do so.”

_“I’ll make sure he knows it would be no problem to arrange for an appointment,”_ Nathalie said at last. _“He hasn’t been taking this the same way I did. I’m not surprised, really, but I feel like I’m at a loss. I don’t know how to help him. Sometimes he seems like he’s seeking distractions, and other times he’d rather be alone, and those times worry me. He seems to be blaming himself for something that was inevitable.”_

Caline sighed. “Nathalie, I really think a counsellor might help him, but I’m also not convinced he’ll consider it if you pose the idea that way. Please, suggest it in a way that makes it clear you encourage him to speak with someone, even if it’s not you, instead of phrasing it like something else you can arrange as you always do.”

Silence. Then, _“You’re right, of course. I will do that in the morning. I’m just not sure he’ll want to do that.”_

“That’s fine. He doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to. He can go if he changes his mind. The point is, he needs to know that the option is there and that it might help him through this. It helped me come to terms with what happened to my sister.”

_“I know. I’m sorry.”_ It was an old, familiar pain—from long before the city was home to Ladybug and Chat Noir—but Nathalie knew the story. Caline wondered if her friend had also forgotten it, thinking too much on her own experiences. _“Forgive me, Caline, but you know the sort of child he is. He used to wear his emotions on his sleeve when his father wasn’t around; he never learned to be reserved, not truly, and now I fear he’s withdrawn. He hasn’t even answered me when I’ve asked about his schooling. Should I encourage him to go back? I don’t want to push him.”_

“The rest of my class would be thrilled to have him back,” Caline answered quietly. “They might be surprised at first, for he won’t be the same, and it might be awkward for a little while as everyone walks on eggshells around him, but he would be welcomed. There’s no doubt about that.”

_“You think he should go back.”_

“I can’t make that decision for him, Nathalie, and neither can you. Maybe he will focus better in a classroom setting; maybe he won’t. Maybe it will be a step toward moving on from this; maybe it’ll be too much too quickly and set him back. Encourage him to think about it, but you’ve done an excellent job of homeschooling him. If he decides to do that for a few months and come back to us a bit later, he will be no worse for the wear.”

Their conversation didn’t last long after that. Nathalie rarely troubled herself with falsities; she had called to speak with Caline about a few specific things and, once discussed, there was no going back to the matter—and heaven forbid Nathalie give someone the opportunity to pry into her private life.

Still, she had not asked the one thing Caline suspected she’d wanted to: _Am I doing the right thing?_

Maybe she’d known Caline didn’t have an answer for her. 

Caline finished washing the dishes, half expecting Nathalie to call again, but the phone was silent for the rest of the evening. Instead, she spent it mulling over the situation at hand. Having a counsellor speak to her class hadn’t helped; she doubted any of them had arranged for individual appointments, even those hardest hit. Chloé missed class regularly enough that she might be seeing someone about this, but Caline didn’t know; M. Damocles had only told her the absences were excused and that all allowances possible should be made, which could mean anything when Chloé’s father was the mayor and she wasn’t afraid to pull on every string she had.

Beyond Chloé, though, Nino and Marinette seemed to be taking this the hardest. Alya seemed distracted, but the other two…. She read their behaviour as guilty, as if they were consumed by some perceived wrongdoing or lapse. Perhaps she should pull them aside after class and speak with them, to tell them the same that she had told Nathalie: that there is no shame in seeking help. Perhaps she should make a few phone calls of her own and speak with their parents about her concerns. 

Or perhaps, in addition to all of that, she should scrap her prepared lesson plan and do something else tomorrow. Death wasn’t exactly an uncommon topic in literature, and she should be able to find enough examples portraying grief to showcase both poor and well handling of it. They could have a frank discussion in class, dealing with emotion as much as fact. She could let her students take the discussion where they wished, and she could learn with whom they most identified, which ones were most fiercely defended, and who among her students saw either too little or too much of themselves coming to light. Even those who sat in silence could tell her as much about their state of mind as those who were vocal.

Afterwards, she should have a better idea of what the best way to go forward from here was. It was past time she steered her students a bit more forcefully. She had no intention of going around the room and asking them to share how they felt about the current situation; the last thing she wanted to do was alienate them or make them share something they’d rather keep private. If they wished to share, whether publically or privately outside of class, then all the better. If they saw themselves mirrored in her examples, fantastic. If she could offer them a light with which to navigate the darkness of their grief, this sudden sense of loss, then that’s what mattered.

If she could help them on their way to recovering from this—be it grief, shock, perceived guilt, or some other emotion that plagued them—then they would all be better prepared to help Adrien if he chose to return to them.

They might not be able to avoid awkwardness, words unthinkingly spoken, or unintentional reminders. She doubted that would be possible, despite everyone’s best intentions. Mistakes were inevitable, but they didn’t have to be the end of everything. No one need pretend nothing had changed. Pain could be acknowledged without turning poisonous or consuming. She could help them find the line between concerned and intrusive, realistic and thoughtless, genuine and false.

They were her students, and so few of them had experienced something like this before, even second hand.

She might not be able to do much, but if she could do anything, anything at all, that could possibly help them? 

She couldn’t stand by, closing her eyes and pretending not to see the possibilities.

Not when they needed someone.

She was their teacher, and not every lesson came from a book.

Sometimes, lessons were learned in the truest way possible: experience. Sometimes that experience was painful or embarrassing, and sometimes that experience was exhilarating or joyful, but that lesson had already been given. She simply needed to help them make sense of it all. And if she could, she intended to do just that.


	19. Part XIX: Plagg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait and thank those who have stuck with me. Imploder, you had wanted another Plagg segment, and I swear I wanted it to be longer than this, so hopefully you'll see another soon. Now, a question for everyone: I’ve danced around some season two spoilers here, but I’ll need to spell stuff out and soon; is anyone opposed to some blatant season two spoilers?

Nino was fidgeting. 

He kept shifting in his seat, one hand darting into his pocket before surfacing, just as empty as before, and meeting the other hand so his fingers could execute some nonsensical dance Plagg didn’t understand. Just as the boy had spent half his time pacing when questioning Plagg earlier, he didn’t seem to want to sit still now, either.

And it’s not that it bothered Plagg. Not really. Nino was new to this; it was understandable that he was nervous, especially after what had happened, and Plagg didn’t expect everyone to take to the responsibility of wielding his Miraculous as well as Adrien had.

But Adrien, were he here and not wrapped up in his own guilt and grief, would have been able to focus on Master Fu’s words. He would have been able to keep still, quiet, and listen, waiting for the right time to burst into action. Nino…. Nino might have pledged to wield Plagg’s Miraculous, but Plagg was beginning to understand why Nino hadn’t wanted to, and not just because of how it had wound up in his hands in the first place. Nino was Chat Noir now, but they were both going to work much harder in their partnership than he and Adrien had ever needed to.

Plagg hoped he was wrong in that assessment, but in truth, he rather doubted it. Nino would probably be better off with someone like Wayzz, for all that they’d seemed to rub each other the wrong way. At the very least, Wayzz would be a better teacher for him. Plagg knew Nino well enough to know Wayzz and the boy weren’t as dissimilar as they appeared. As ready to fight for and defend others as Nino was, he could also step back and approach things with a cool head, once he had more of the facts; Wayzz had a long memory and a thirst for knowledge which had served him well over the years, and he might be able to temper Nino’s initial rash reactions. Plagg might not agree with Wayzz’s conclusions all the time, but he could appreciate the wisdom behind them. He just thought that sometimes Wayzz’s wisdom lacked common sense, no matter how often Tikki told him that was nonsense.

Nino leaned back, pressing his palms into the wooden floor beyond the rug, but it wasn’t long before his fingers began drumming out a report. He shifted again when he noticed, bringing his hands back in front of him, and Plagg knew he was trying. He was focusing in his own way; if questioned, he’d no doubt be able to hold his own. Plagg just worried that that wouldn’t be enough, that some unintentional tell might give him away before he had fully accepted the circumstances.

From what Tikki had told him, it had taken Marinette a while to accept her role in this.

Plagg wondered if she regretted that at all, if she sometimes wished she had passed along her Miraculous as Adrien had now done. He knew it wouldn’t likely have made much difference, but he also knew a thing or two about accepting hard truths. And he wasn’t so sure Master Fu would tell the teenagers everything before he was absolutely certain they could accept this one. 

It was dangerous. Plagg knew that. The best of intentions could have the most disastrous consequences, for they could never be fully predicted. But he thought if they at least knew, they might understand why things had played out as they had.

As far as he knew, Ladybug and Chat Noir had never realized exactly what Hawk Moth had planned to do if he’d managed to obtain their Miraculous.

Nino hadn’t noticed when Plagg had given up trying to find a comfortable perch on him for the duration and had instead settled on the table near Wayzz, but that was all right. After a while, Nino would become as sensitive to his presence as Adrien had been, and they’d be able to communicate silently. It was going to take some getting used to on both their parts, but Plagg wasn’t about to abandon his newest boy. He just hoped he could do well by him, that he wouldn’t ruin anything for him as he had for Adrien.

Plagg noticed the moment Wayzz sensed something, though a glance toward Tikki told him she was too involved in the conversation to be paying attention. Tikki would no doubt be able to rehash everything with Marinette later if Marinette so required it. Plagg would not be able to do the same for Nino. He didn’t want to go over this again. If Nino had questions directly relating to this, he could always ask Marinette. So, when Wayzz took off, Plagg had no qualms about following.

They went through the wall, shot toward the ceiling, and then passed through the hallway and into the foyer. As he and Wayzz moved toward the windows, Plagg realized what Wayzz had sensed: two of Adrien’s classmates, Alya and Sabrina. The former was rattling the door and seemed disappointed that it was locked. Since they’d had no trouble getting in, Plagg suspected Wayzz had locked it after their arrival.

“This might not even be the place,” Sabrina was saying. 

“They were seen here,” argued Alya. She waved her phone in the other girl’s direction. “See? Proof. This is the place.”

Wayzz turned to Plagg. He waved a dismissive paw, too used to listening to Alya’s theories to be worried that she was finally on the right track. Tikki would take the matter more seriously, but Plagg figured people were actually capable of keeping secrets when they understood the necessity of it. “Adrien’s classmates. The loud one runs the Ladyblog.”

“They must not discover the truth.”

“It wouldn’t be as bad as you think. Sometimes, trusting someone else is the only way to get through a rough patch. How easy do you think it would be for Marinette if she didn’t have Tikki? If she didn’t have Adrien and Nino? And how easy do you think it is for Nino to step up and take Adrien’s place?” 

“Plagg, you know full well there is a difference between that and the secrets I—”

“Your _secrets_ ,” Plagg spat, “are the real reason Master Fu never tried to talk to Adrien. They’re the real reason you tried to take back my Ring. You trusted Adrien to be Chat Noir. You trust Marinette to be Ladybug and Nino to be Chat Noir. Why can’t you trust them with this, too?”

“This isn’t the same.” Wayzz’s voice was steady, calm. He was infuriatingly difficult to anger, especially when Plagg wanted an argument. “You know it isn’t. You know the power of the combined Miraculous, Plagg. Perhaps it would be different if the truth could come to light slowly, under better circumstances. Perhaps Master Fu would agree to tell them then. But he mustn’t now, not when the temptation would be so great. You _know_ that.”

“And you don’t think they deserve a chance to prove they can resist that temptation?”

“The risk is too great. If you took this risk and were wrong, Plagg, the consequences would be unimaginable. You know why so much is already lost. Are you willing to forsake the rest? To trust that much power in the hands of mere mortals who have been weakened by their own grief?”

“They’ve been weakened by our war,” Plagg muttered. He didn’t want to admit that Wayzz was right. Betrayal was all too common among humans, and being wrong….

Plagg closed his eyes. He knew Wayzz was still waiting for an answer. He just hated that he had to give this one. “I can’t speak for Tikki about Marinette, and I don’t know Nino well enough yet. Adrien always trusted him, and that should be enough.”

“But it isn’t.”

“He means well.”

“Good intentions can still beget terrible deeds.”

Plagg knew that all too well. It was a lesson that kept coming up. In Wayzz’s mind, it was a lesson Plagg refused to learn. And since that’s what he expected, Plagg saw no reason to lie and disappoint him. “Adrien should still know.”

“He is the last one—”

“He _deserves_ to know. His father is dead. Because of _us_. And he blames himself. Don’t dismiss that.”

“Oh?” Wayzz’s antennae shifted upwards by a hair. “So have you already gone behind our backs to tell him?”

Plagg glared at him.

“If you had come with me before, you wouldn’t have found yourself serving a new master. If you hadn’t been so careless with your own Miraculous, you wouldn’t be tied to a boy you aren’t sure you can fully trust. Don’t deny it,” Wayzz added as Plagg opened his mouth to do just that. “You know I speak the truth.”

“I trust him,” Plagg countered. “I’m just not convinced we’re the best match. But we’ll make it work. For Adrien, if no one else.”

“So you truly believe your new master will give you up to your old one? Do you suppose he’ll even want you back?”

Plagg sucked in a breath. “You know I can’t answer that.” Wayzz had to know how much that question hurt. Even for one who preferred to fight with words over action until he felt the time for action had arrived, it was a low blow. “It’s meant to be Adrien’s decision alone.” He swallowed. “And as Master Fu said, it’s not just a question of whether he’s willing to accept me again. He must accept everything I come with as well.” 

Wayzz’s expression didn’t change. “And that is why you believe he is content with the way things are now? That he would not be tempted by the true power of the Miraculous, if it were revealed to him?”

“It’s not a matter of temptation,” snapped Plagg. “It’s a matter of will. Adrien has held fast in the face of temptation before. He was mooning over Ladybug for ages, but did he peek when he had a chance to discover her true identity? No! Because that’s not the sort of person he is. And this—”

“Is different,” repeated Wayzz. 

“Adrien wouldn’t see it as the perfect solution to all his troubles.” Plagg didn’t know why he kept arguing; he wasn’t going to convince Wayzz. Still, it was the principle of the thing. “He knows there would be consequences—unimaginable consequences—to balance everything out.”

“But would he worry about those now or convince himself they could be addressed later?”

Pounding at the door saved Plagg from answering. “Hello?” hollered Alya. “Ladybug? Chat Noir?”

“She won’t leave without getting answers,” Plagg pointed out. “She’ll stay out there all night if she has to.” He glanced down at Sabrina, who had her arms crossed and seemed to be trying to look like she had nothing to do with Alya despite standing beside her. “The other one will be gone within the hour.”

Wayzz sighed, and suddenly a glimmer of his true age became apparent on his form. He looked weary, as tired as Plagg felt, if not quite so fed up with all the secrecy. “We cannot stop the spread, can we?”

That could mean a few things, coming from Wayzz, but Plagg took it to mean—in this particular instance—information. Information, the truth, and the secrets surrounding everything. “The book is lost,” Plagg said bluntly, “but just because we haven’t found it, doesn’t mean it was destroyed. Which means _someone_ has it, and Hawk Moth had access to that information, if not its source. If you want to try to contain this, Wayzz, you’ll need to venture out into the world again, with or without Master Fu. Take Tikki if she agrees or wake one of the others, but I’m not going. I belong here.”

“You’ll be swallowed by their troubles if you allow yourself to be.”

“At least I acknowledge their troubles,” Plagg shot back.

Wayzz may have argued, but Master Fu came to the front of the shop. Alya immediately brightened when he unlocked the door. “May I help you?”

“We’d like to speak to Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Alya said, tugging Sabrina forward. “Please. It’s important.”

Even from here, Plagg could see the small smile that crossed Master Fu’s face. “I am afraid I cannot help you,” he said, not moving from the doorway. Alya looked tempted to try to push past him to gain entrance, convinced—rightfully—as she was of the answers that lay beyond, but Plagg wasn’t sure even she’d do that. If she tried, it looked like Sabrina would stop her.

Alya started talking—the girl could _talk_ —as if she could counter Master Fu or convince him to let her through, but Plagg suddenly realized he didn’t want to stick around for this. He knew what would happen. Master Fu would either say something to placate her or she’d find herself talked into doing something that wasn’t remotely related to her initial intentions, thinking it was her idea all along. It was still deceit, though Plagg knew the reasons for it, especially when it came to people like Alya and Sabrina. (Why was Sabrina even _here_? He only remembered her hanging around Chloé.)

But he was still sick of all the secrets.

He was fed up with the lies.

And he hated how everyone was convinced it was a necessity, even though that meant the kids they’d asked to fight for them had no idea what they were really fighting for.

The truth wasn’t always pretty. It wouldn’t necessarily make things better. But Adrien was already broken, and Plagg didn’t want to play games with him any longer. This was too important.

He flew out of the shop when Wayzz was distracted. It wouldn’t be long before the other kwami was on his tail, especially since Wayzz and Tikki would surely know where he was going even if none of the humans realized it at first. But he had to do this.

He had to see Adrien.

He had to explain, as much as he could, as much as Adrien wanted to hear it.

Adrien’s mansion wasn’t far, and it didn’t take Plagg long to get there, especially when he didn’t have to worry about being seen at this time of night. It was too dark for anyone to notice him zipping along even if they did look up; the streetlights didn’t throw enough light to make something his size easily distinguishable. If anyone _did_ spot him, they’d just think he was a bird. Because that was normal, and humans were good about convincing themselves they hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary.

Much of the Agreste mansion was dark, but one of the rooms where the light shone through the windows was Adrien’s, and Plagg made a beeline for it. He was careful once he got closer—he didn’t know who might be in the room besides Adrien—but he could only see Adrien lying on his bed and Nathalie on the phone in the far corner of the room. It was easy to sneak past her.

Adrien was asleep, curled up into a tight ball on his side. Plagg slipped beneath the covers and nestled next to his boy’s chest. Here, he’d be able to hear if Adrien’s dreams turned to nightmares.

He wasn’t abandoning Nino. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. But Nino wouldn’t begrudge him this, not when he worried for Adrien nearly as much as Plagg.

Casualties were a part of war. They were inevitable. Plagg knew that. But Adrien had never understood that each battle was part of a greater war, that even Hawk Moth was not the greatest danger he and Ladybug would ever face. He hadn’t realized and Plagg had stopped trying to tell him, so this was the cost of Adrien’s ignorance and Plagg’s negligence: irreparably shattered innocence and a terrible secret. A broken heart. A scarred soul.

A severed bond.

Adrien mumbled something in his sleep and shifted so that he had one hand resting on Plagg’s back. Plagg relaxed, nuzzling into the familiar warmth. He didn’t want to wake Adrien. Not for this. And he didn’t want to say too much when anyone else was in earshot. 

But once Nathalie was pulled away by one duty or another, now or come morning, he would speak with Adrien.

It didn’t matter that Wayzz thought they weren’t ready. It didn’t matter that Master Fu was wary of any of them knowing too much right now. Plagg knew they were strong, knew _Adrien_ was strong, and even though he was no longer Chat Noir…. Even though he wasn’t, Plagg still felt responsible for him. For this. 

Truths could be sharp and bitter, but lies cut deeper.

And while Plagg had always tried to be very careful to tell Adrien the truth, there had been some…significant omissions in some of that information.

The truth may not fix things—Plagg would not allow Adrien to try, were he tempted after all—and Plagg didn’t think it would have done much to change the past, but as he’d told Wayzz, Adrien deserved to know.

And even if Wayzz tried to drag him away, Plagg would just come back. Wayzz would know that, too. Maybe that’s why the minutes dragged by and he never showed himself, or maybe he had seen Adrien asleep and had known Plagg wouldn’t wake him, or maybe he’d spotted Nathalie in the room and had known their secrets would remain just that for at least a little while longer. 

It didn’t matter. Plagg knew what the failed appearance meant: it was a concession of sorts. An admission that Wayzz knew he wouldn’t be able to change Plagg’s mind. Plagg knew how easily secrets could be lost when told in apparent confidence, but Adrien…. He didn’t want to do this to Adrien any longer. He couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to Adrien and lie to Nino, spinning the same tales as Tikki would if Marinette brought it up. And Plagg suspected Marinette would; neither she nor Nino would remain satisfied with Master Fu’s answer if they were given too much time to think about it. Training would be a distraction for now, but Adrien’s drowning in grief and guilt would be reminder enough.

Master Fu hoped to keep them too busy to dwell on it, but Adrien…. Plagg knew him. He would come back to that point. He had remembered Nooroo. He would remember this, too, and realize he’d never been given a straight answer, and he would not be satisfied if Plagg tried to put him off again. 

_I don’t even know why he was doing this._ It wasn’t even that long ago that Adrien had admitted that to him. But Nooroo knew Hawk Moth’s intentions, at least to a certain extent, and Adrien wasn’t about to forget that, even if he’d decided not to push Plagg when it came to getting answers. But Plagg…. He had an idea of the truth now, too, a better idea than he’d ever had before he’d realized Hawk Moth’s identity. Adrien had never asked him directly, but Plagg had implied ignorance, as the others would have wanted it. 

He knew how much that would come to feel like a lie.

Perhaps it was best he was with Nino now; his partnership with Adrien wouldn’t have worked if Adrien hadn’t thought he could trust him.

Plagg couldn’t bring himself to blame Adrien for such a reaction, but it would still hurt. He knew that. But he was prepared to tell the truth anyway.

A single answer wouldn’t calm the raging storm contained within his boy, but it would be a start. Plagg knew there were too many other questions that would never be answered. He could at least grant Adrien this. 

“I promise, Adrien,” whispered Plagg, “I’ll find a way to tell you as much as I know.”


End file.
